//''?  /'ft 


THE 


WETTINGS 


JAMES   KENNARD,  JR 


SELECTIONS 


THE    WRITINGS 


JAMES    KENNARD,  JR., 


A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER. 


P1UNTE1)   FOR   PRIVATE   CIRCULATION. 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM   D.  TICKNOR   &   COMPANY. 

M  OCCC  XL1X. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1843,  by 

MANNING   KENNARD, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
METCALF    AND    COMPANY, 

PRINTERS   TO   THE  UNIVERSITY. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 
MEMOIR .  VU 


PROSE    WRITINGS. 

ECONOMY 3 

THE    WAY 38 

THEORY  AND  PRACTICE,  OR  PRINCIPLES  CARRIED  OUT    .        .  59 

ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE 75 

WHO  ARE  OUR  NATIONAL  POETS  ? 105 

TOLERATION 127 

WHAT  IS  TRANSCENDENTALISM? 134 

PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK 147 

MY   LEG 158 

THE   PHILOSOPHY    OF   KITE-FLYING 170 

WHITE-LYING   AND   ITS   VICTIM 181 

WAR   WITH   MEXICO 187 

THE   CHURCH   OF  CHRIST 208 

TYRANNY    IN    A   FREE   COUNTRY 219 

AN   HISTORICAL   PARABLE           .            .           .            .            .            .           .  228 

POETRY. 

MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS 239 

A   SAIL    ON    THE    PISCATAQUA 243 


VI  CONTENTS. 

A  FRIEND  INDEED 246 

THE  BALLAD  OF  JACK  RINGBOLT 248 

"LUFF  WHEN  YOU  CAN,  BEAR  AWAY  WHEN  YOU  MUST"  256 

WRECK  OF  THE  SEGUNTUM 258 

THE  WATER-CURE,  OR  THE  BALLAD  OF  KATE  PETERSON    .  262 

EPIGRAM 270 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  JILTED    .......  271 

FOURTH  OF  JULY 274 

TO 276 

THE   LAKE    AT   SUNSET 278 

THE    EARTHQUAKE 281 

LINES   ON    THE   CELEBRATION    OF   THE   CAPTURE   OF   VERA   CRUZ  286 

LIBERTY 288 

DEATH  ON  THE  PALE  HORSE 290 

SAD  HOURS         ; 293 

THE  GRAVE 295 

AFFLICTION 297 

WEARY  NOT  ........         .  299 

NIGHT 300 

SORROW 302 

THE   SOUL'S   DESTINY 303 

WHAT   SHALL    I    ASK    IN    PRAYER? 304 


MEMOIR, 


BY 


A.  P.  PEABODY, 


MEMOIR. 


JAMES  KENNARD,  JR.,  was  born  in  Portsmouth,  New 
Hampshire,  on  the  20th  of  November,  1815.  His 
parents  were  James  Kennard,  and  Mary  P.,  daughter 
of  Thomas  Manning.  He  received  the  best  educa- 
tion which  the  schools  of  his  native  town  afforded, 
and  was  distinguished  through  his  boyhood  by  quick- 
ness of  apprehension,  keen  powers  of  observation, 
and  the  most  happy  and  genial  temperament.  His 
acquisitions  were  highly  respectable,  and  a  love  of 
reading  and  a  thirst  for  knowledge  were  very  early 
manifested.  There  was  nothing,  however,  in  his 
prevalent  tastes  and  habits,  which  seemed  to  point 
him  out  as  a  subject  for  a  liberal  education  ;  and  his 
own  inclinations  led  him  to  an  active  rather  than  a 
studious  life.  He  was  accordingly  placed,  in  his 
fifteenth  year,  as  junior  clerk  in  a  wholesale  and  re- 
tail dry-goods  store,  still  remaining  a  member  of  his 
father's  family.  After  little  more  than  a  year,  a 
lameness  in  the  right  knee,  which  could  be  traced 
to  no  injury,  and  which  resisted  all  usual  modes  of 
6 


X  MEMOIR. 

treatment,  compelled  him  to  abandon  the  business 
on  which  he  had  entered.  From  this  time  onward, 
his  life,  with  scarcely  an  intermission,  was  one  of 
prolonged  and  acute  suffering.  For  two  or  three 
years  he  remained  principally  at  home,  the  object  of 
the  most  assiduous  and  devoted  care,  and  surrounded 
by  all  the  appliances  for  his  relief  and  restoration 
which  skill  could  suggest  or  love  afford.  At  times, 
especially  in  the  winter,  he  was  confined  to  his 
chamber,  —  at  other  times,  he  was  able  to  walk,  ride 
and  sail,  to  visit  his  friends,  and  to  enter  freely  into 
the  less  wearisome  forms  of  social  amusement.  Dur- 
ing this  period,  he  manifested  the  most  entire  patience 
and  cheerfulness,  the  elasticity  of  his  spirit  remained 
unbroken,  the  simniness  of  his  temper  unclouded. 
A  large  portion  of  his  time  was  spent  in  reading, 
and  the  extensive  and  admirably  selected  library  of 
the  Portsmouth  Athenaeum  furnished  him  an  ample 
supply  of  the  books  best  adapted  to  direct  and  culti- 
vate his  literary  taste.  He  read  with  method  and 
system,  compared  author  with  author,  and  sought 
full  and  accurate  information  on  all  the  subjects  on 
which  his  curiosity  was  excited.  His  disease  hav- 
ing evidently  become  chronic,  his  parents  reluctantly 
consented  to  his  making  experiment  of  the  restora- 
tive influences  of  a  milder  climate ;  and  in  October, 
1835,  he  went  with  a  party  of  friends,  who  were  to 


MEMOIR.  XI 

reside  there  permanently,  to  Jacksonville,  in  Florida. 
After  remaining  there  through  the  winter,  he  spent 
two  months  at  Winnsborough,  South  Carolina,  and 
returned  home,  apparently  much  improved  in  health, 
in  July,  1836.  During  the  first  part  of  his  absence 
from  home,  he  kept  a  journal,  principally  for  his 
mother's  gratification.  We  regret  that  we  cannot 
print  this  entire.  But  the  following  extracts  from 
the  portion  that  remains  unmutilated  will  tell  his 
story  in  his  own  words,  and  will  present  an  interest- 
ing picture  of  his  mind  and  heart  at  one  of  the  most 
critical  periods  in  the  formation  of  his  character. 

"  Charleston  is  an  antiquated-looking  place,  wholly  unlike 
the  Northern  cities  of  the  United  States.  All  the  buildings 
look  old,  and  none  of  them  are  elegant.  They  are  mostly 
of  brick,  plastered  with  a  composition  resembling,  or  meant 
to  resemble,  granite.  I  saw  but  one  building  which  looked 
less  than  thirty  years  old,  in  the  whole  town.  I  am  told  that 
the  moisture  in  the  atmosphere  is  the  cause  of  this  gen- 
eral appearance  of  age  exhibited  by  the  city.  Charles- 
ton agrees  very  well  with  my  idea  of  an  Oriental  metropolis. 
The  buildings  are  generally  detached  ;  I  saw  but  few  blocks. 
The  principal  streets  are  broad  and  spacious,  and  lined  with 
pride-of-India  trees,  which  must  give  them  a  very  pretty 
appearance  in  the  summer  season.  They  are  filled  with 
people,  who  do  not  appear  to  move  with  the  activity  of  the 
Northerners ;  and  the  blacks,  especially,  barely  creep  along. 
The  wharves  were  covered  with  cotton,  the  busy  season 
being  about  to  commence. 

"  I  was  very  much  pleased  with  Charleston  as  a  whole. 
We  staid  there  three  days,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  14th 


Xll  MEMOIR. 

of  November,  we  again  set  sail  for  Florida.  There  was 
scarcely  wind  sufficient  to  fan  us  down  the  harbour.  We 
found  on  the  bar  an  English  ship,  which  sailed  from  the 
city  the  day  before ;  and  hardly  had  we  passed  over,  when 
the  wind  came,  slap,  right  back  into  its  old  quarter,  south- 
west. The  British  vessel  swung  off  and  sailed  back  to  town, 
leaving  us  to  beat  out  against  a  fresh  southerly  breeze. 
We  were  three  days  in  reaching  the  mouth  of  the  St.  John's, 
—  being  most  of  the  time  becalmed.  About  ten  o'clock, 
A.  M.,  on  the  17th  of  November,  we  descried  the  long 
wished-for  point  of  our  destination,  the  St.  John's  lighthouse, 
and  the  low,  sandy  coast  of  the  land  of  flowers.  The  beach 
was  as  white  as  snow,  and  sterile  and  barren  enough  did  the 
promised  land  appear.  We  anchored  off  the  bar,  which  was 
distinctly  marked  out  by  the  breakers,  and  waited  for  the 
tide  to  rise.  The  water  has  the  same  muddy  appearance  as 
that  on  Charleston  bar,  and  is  so  full  of  sharks,  that,  while  the 
captain  was  out  in  the  boat  sounding  preparatory  to  enter- 
ing the  river,  his  line  was  nearly  pulled  from  his  hand  by  a 
shark  which  had  seized  the  lead ;  —  when  hauled  up,  the 
lead  bore  the  marks  of  teeth  deeply  impressed  upon  it.  We 
entered  the  river  that  evening,  and  anchored  about  seven 
miles  inside  the  lighthouse. 

"  I  rose  before  the  sun  on  the  morning  after  we  entered  the 
river,  and  what  a  glorious  sight  met  my  view !  The  wide 
expanse  of  the  St.  John's  was  calm  and  glassy  as  a  mirror, 
reflecting  the  ten  thousand  beautiful  tints  which  the  skies 
possess  in  this  sunny  clime,  just  before  sunrise  and  just 
after  sunset,  and  from  the  banks  the  graceful  trees  bent  in  ad- 
miring contemplation  over  their  own  beautiful  images  clearly 
denned  in  the  dark  stream  beneath  them.  Thousands  upon 
thousands  of  every  variety  of  water- fowl  floated  lightly  on 
the  bosom  of  the  waters,  or  wheeled  in  mazy  circles  grace- 
fully over  the  surface  of  the  river.  They  had  just  fled  from 
the  approaching  severity  of  a  Northern  winter,  and  appeared 


MEMOIR.  Xlll 

to  be  rejoicing  in  their  happy  escape  from  that  frozen  clime. 
A  bird  of  passage  myself,  —  I  had  fled  like  them  from  ice 
and  snow,  to  seek  in  Florida  a  refuge  from  disease  and  a 
restoration  to  health.  When  I  left  the  North,  the  chill  winds 
of  autumn  had  robbed  the  trees  of  their  foliage,  and  the  sear 
leaves  were  heaped  up  and  whirled  about  by  the  eddying 
blasts,  which  already  partook  too  much  of  the  nature  of 
winter  for  my  personal  comfort  and  health.  Four  short 
weeks  had  elapsed,  —  I  was  breathing  the  balmy  air  of  the 
South,  —  while  in  my  native  State  the  ground  was  covered 
deeply  with  snow,  and  the  lakes  and  rivers  were  bound  in 
ice. 

"  In  New  York  the  trees  are  less  bare  and  the  foliage  less 
lifeless  than  at  Portsmouth.  In  Charleston  every  thing  ap- 
peared blooming  and  fresh  as  during  September  at  the  North  ; 
and  in  Florida  I  found  myself,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of 
summer.  The  mildness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  gorgeous 
splendor  of  the  sunrise,  the  warbled  music  of  the  birds, 
the  water-fowl  with  their  discordant  screams,  and  the  trees 
clothed  in  their  green  and  luxuriant  foliage,  were  all  con- 
nected in  my  mind  with  the  idea  of  July.  Among  other 
productions  entirely  new  to  me,  the  tall  cabbage-tree,  with 
its  branchless  trunk  and  tufted  top,  the  beautiful  magnolia, 
and  the  majestic  live-oak,  attracted  my  attention  and  ex- 
cited my  admiration.  With  the  sun  arose  a  light  breeze, 
—  we  weighed  anchor  and  proceeded  slowly  up  the  river. 

There  was  scarcely  wind  enough  to  move  the  vessel. 
The  smooth  face  of  the  river  was  hardly  broken  by  a  ripple. 
Now  and  then  a  porpoise  rose  to  the  surface,  and,  after 
breathing,  dived  again  immediately,  and  occasionally  an 
alligator  jumped  from  the  bank  and  sank  like  lead  to  the 
bottom. 

"  By  10,  A.  M.,  the  sun  got  to  be  very  hot,  the  wind  failed 
entirely,  and,  rinding  it  impossible  to  stem  even  the  slow 


XIV  MEMOIR. 

current  of  the  St.  John's,  the  captain  ordered  the  anchor  to 
be  dropped. 

"  Being  rather  discontented  on  board  the  vessel,  B.  and 
myself  took  our  guns  and  rowed  ashore  in  the  boat.  The 
tropical  appearance  of  every  thing,  the  strange  character  of 
the  herbage  and  trees,  compared  with  what  we  had  been 
accustomed  to  see,  the  insects  and  reptiles,  excited  feelings 
of  astonishment,  and  curiosity  to  see  more  of  the  country 
which  might  become  our  future  place  of  residence.  O,  the 
wild  thrill  of  joy  which  passed  over  me  when  I  first  stood 
upon  the  sandy  beach  of  that  noble  river !  For  years  this 
had  been  the  wish  of  my  heart ;  for  years  had  I  striven  for 
this ;  and  for  this  I  had  left  home  against  the  wish  of  my 
parents,  though  with  their  tacit  consent. 

"In  my  boyhood,  rny  imagination  had  been  excited  and 
captivated  by  accounts  of  Florida  ;  and  an  invincible  desire 
to  behold  that  favored  land,  clothed  by  fancy  in  the  most  bril- 
liant colors,  had  for  five  years  been  the  dominant  wish  of 
my  soul.  Two  years  after  my  ideas  were  first  awakened 
upon  this  subject,  I  experienced  a  severe  attack  of  the 
rheumatism,  which  was  repeated  during  the  following  winter, 
entirely  depriving  me  for  the  time  of  the  use  of  my  limbs, 
and  leaving  me  in  so  weak  a  state  as  to  be  unable  to  return 
to  my  business.  I  passed  a  year  and  a  half  in  idleness, 
gradually  recovering  during  the  summer  of  1834,  until  in 
September  I  thought  myself  nearly  able  to  return  to  busi- 
ness again.  I  had  in  view  a  very  good  situation  in  Jeremie, 
but  lost  it  by  waiting  for  my  father's  consent,  he  being  at 
sea  at  the  time.  Had  he  arrived  home  a  week  before  he 
did,  God  only  knows  what  might  have  been  my  destiny. 
His  approval  of  the  measure  came  too  late.  The  place 
was  occupied  by  some  one  else,  and  I  was  condemned  to 
pass  another  winter  at  the  North.  It  was  in  vain  that  I 
urged  the  necessity  of  my  case,  in  vain  that  I  foretold 
the  effects  which  the  approaching  cold  weather  would  pro- 


MEMOIR.  XV 

duce  in  my  system.  My  father  had  seen  a  great  deal  of 
the  Southern  climate,  and  thought  it  fully  as  bad  as  that  of 
New  England.  Neither  he  nor  my  mother  could  bear  the 
idea  of  my  being  taken  sick  among  strangers,  deprived  of 
the  comforts  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  at  home.  I 
cannot  blame  them  ;  it  was  in  kindness  to  me.  And  it  really 
did  seem  a  wild  undertaking  for  one  in  delicate  health  to 
wander  alone  twelve  hundred  miles  from  home,  in  the  midst 
of  strangers,  and  liable  to  be  rendered  entirely  helpless  at 
any  time  by  a  fell  disease,  which  would  yield  to  no  remedy 
but  time.  Many  an  anxious  hour  would  my  poor  mother 
have  passed,  and  many  an  unhappy  thought  would  have 
preyed  upon  my  dear  father,  had  they  permitted  me  to  set 
out  alone  on  such  an  expedition.  Had  any  misfortune  oc- 
curred to  me,  they  would  have  blamed  themselves.  I  spent 
that  winter  of  1834-35  at  home,  and  miserably  enough  as 
regards  my  bodily  comfort.  It  is  a  dark  spot  on  memory's 
field.  I  recovered  sufficiently  by  May,  1835,  to  allow  of  my 
going  to  Boston  in  search  of  medical  advice.  I  spent  five 
or  six  weeks  there,  under  the  care  of  Dr. ,  a  profes- 
sional bone-setter,  and  wasted  about  one  hundred  dollars  in 
fees  and  other  expenses,  and  then  returned  to  Portsmouth  in 
the  same  state  in  which  I  left  it.  1  was  discouraged  ;  dark 
visions  of  amputated  limbs  and  cork  legs  haunted  me,  both 
asleep  and  awake.  But  what  weighed  most  upon  my 
mind  was  the  idea  of  becoming  a  burden  upon  my  father 
for  life,  —  a  galling  thought  to  an  independent  spirit.  I  was 
convinced  that  time  alone,  with  a  warm  climate,  would  restore 
me.  Seeing  my  despondency,  and  knowing  the  determina- 
tion of  my  wishes  towards  Florida,  my  father  gave  at  last 
an  unwilling  consent  to  the  long  wished-for  expedition. 
How  my  blood  thrilled  at  the  thought,  and  what  a  load  was 
taken  from  my  mind !  But  for  two  months,  up  to  the  very 
day  of  my  departure,  he  never  ceased  to  persuade  me 
to  resign  all  thought  of  the  voyage ;  and  even  at  the 


XVI  MEMOIR. 

very  last  hour  he  seriously  urged  me  to  have  my  trunk 
taken  from  the  vessel,  and  remain  at  home.  But  he  might 
as  well  have  attempted  to  move  Mount  Washington.  Sadly 
enough  I  felt  at  the  thought  of  leaving  every  thing  dear  be- 
hind, and  many  a  night  had  I  waked  in  tears  at  the  antici- 
pation. Deeply  rooted  was  my  affection  .for  home,  but 
stronger  for  the  time  was  the  wish  to  travel. 

"  I  went  in  company  with  friends,  with  whom  I  had  been 
intimate  from  my  childhood,  and  upon  whom  I  could  depend 
in  case  of  sickness.  This  it  was  which  reconciled  my 
mother  to  the  step  I  was  taking.  And  friends  indeed  they 
proved  !  —  Miss  D.  was  as  kind  to  me  as  a  mother,  and 
the  young  ladies  were  as  sisters  to  me.  The  whole  family 
secured  a  place  in  my  affections  which  can  never  be  vacated. 
And  happy  indeed  should  I  be  at  the  thought,  that  the  recol- 
lection of  me  would  continue  as  fresh  in  their  memories. 

"  I  have  wandered  widely  from  the  course  of  my  narrative  ; 
but  in  writing  this  journal  I  follow  the  impulses  of  the  mo- 
ment, and  record  whatever  comes  uppermost  in  my  mind. 
It  is  a  journal  of  thoughts  and  feelings  as  well  as  of  actions, 
and  being  intended,  my  dear  mother,  only  for  your  eye,  I 
write  as  I  think  and  feel,  without  suppressing  any  thing,  I 
am  satisfied,  my  dear  mother,  that  you  will  be  better  pleased 
with  my  freely  expressed  ideas  than  with  a  constrained 
style,  stiffly  written,  or  clumsily  decorated  with  the  orna- 
ments of  poetry  or  rhetoric.  I  began  this  in  compliance 
with  your  wishes,  and  for  you  I  shall  continue  it  until  we 


On  Mr.  Kennard's  return  from  the  South,  he  con- 
sidered his  health  so  firm,  that  he  made  arrangements 
to  enter  into  business  with  an  elder  brother  then 
established  in  Philadelphia.  While  in  Boston  on  his 
way  thither,  he  was  attacked  in  the  diseased  joint 


MEMOIR.  XV11 

with  great  severity,  and  was  obliged  to  abandon  all 
plans  that  involved  the  necessity  of  physical  effort. 
The  succeeding  winter  was  passed  in  severe  suffer- 
ing, but  with  a  serene,  happy,  and  hopeful  spirit,  and 
in  the  enjoyment  of  books,  and  of  the  society  of  a 
numerous  circle  of  friends,  who  did  every  thing  in 
their  power  to  alleviate  the  weariness  of  his  long 
confinement.  In  the  spring  of  1837,  he  found  him- 
self so  far  relieved  and  invigorated,  as  to  commence 
the  study  of  medicine  with  his  family  physician  and 
faithful  friend,  C.  A.  Cheever,  M.  D.  But,  after  a 
few  months,  renewed  infirmity  compelled  him  to 
resign  all  thoughts  of  a  professional,  as  he  previously 
had  of  a  mercantile  life.  In  August  of  the  same 
year,  he  put  himself  under  the  professional  care  of 
Dr.  Hayward  at  the  Massachusetts  General  Hospital, 
where  he  remained  four  months.  The  disease 
seeming  incurable,  and  at  the  same  time  being  ap- 
parently confined  to  the  knee-joint,  it  was  deemed 
expedient  to  amputate  the  leg  above  the  knee.  The 
operation  took  place  on  the  4th  of  November.  He 
declined  sending  notice  of  the  time  to  his  parents,  in 
order  to  save  them  the  pain  of  being  in  Boston  at 
the  critical  moment,  or  of  protracted  anxiety  as  to 
the  result.  On  that  morning,  he  wrote  them  a  letter, 
apprising  them  of  what  was  to  take  place,  and  prom- 
ising to  add  a  postscript  in  case  of  the  successful  issue 


XV111  MEMOIR. 

of  the  operation.  He  then  took  his  last  walk  with 
the  doomed  limb,  and  quietly  submitted  to  the  knife. 
At  ten  o'clock,  he  added  to  the  letter  the  simple 
words,  "All  is  well  and  over."  We  have  seen  this 
letter,  and  have  never  seen  any  thing  more  beauti- 
fully indicative  of  true  heroism,  fortitude,  and  Chris- 
tian resignation.  To  the  deep  regret  of  his  friends, 
this  document  held  by  them  as  so  precious  has  been 
mislaid.  But  we  can  in  part  compensate  for  its  loss 
by  printing  a  letter  and  postscript  of  like  tenor,  ad- 
dressed to  his  eldest  brother,  then  on  his  passage  to 
New  Orleans. 

"  Boston,  Nov.  3cZ,  1837. 
"  MY  DEAR  BROTHER  :  — 

"  Your  letter  dated  New  York,  October  29th,  was  received 
on  the  31st,  at  which  time  I  suppose  you  were  dashing 
through  the  water  on  your  way  to  New  Orleans,  in  the  good 
ship  Alabama.  I  had  heard  of  your  intended  move  through 
father,  a  day  or  two  before,  and  was  living  in  the  hourly 
expectation  of  seeing  you  as  you  passed  through  the  city  on 
your  way  to  Portsmouth.  I  hope  from  my  soul  that  every 
thing  may  turn  out  as  you  would  wish.  I  hope  you  may  be 
successful  in  your  business.  I  should  like  much  to  be  with 
you  this  winter  at  New  Orleans,  but  it  may  not  be.  I  am 
to  undergo  rather  a  severe  operation  before  I  leave  the 
Hospital.  I  have  often  stated  to  you  my  fears  that  my  knee 
would  come  to  amputation.  They  are  now  about  to  be 
realized.  To-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock  I  shall  get  rid  of  a 
troublesome  appendage,  which  has  palsied  every  effort  that 
I  have  made  for  the  last  four  years.  However,  I  do  not 


MEMOIR.  XIX 

complain  of  that.  I  think  the  knee  has  been  of  service  to 
me  in  many  other  ways.  It,  at  least,  has  kept  me  from  a 
deal  of  wickedness  and  dissipation,  has  given  me  time  to 
reflect,  and  to  form  serious  resolutions.  I  am  content. 

"  I  am  in  the  best  possible  state  for  an  operation,  and  (God 
willing)  shall  probably  recover  from  it  in  four  weeks.  Dr. 
Hayward  told  me  this  morning,  that  he  last  year  amputated 
the  leg  of  a  young  man  similarly  situated,  who  was  walking 
in  the  yard  eighteen  days  afterward.  I  hope  to  be  at 
home  and  well,  by  Christmas,  at  least. 

"  I  have  lost  much  flesh  while  I  have  been  here,  owing  to 
the  medicine  and  want  of  exercise.  Since  the  former  has 
been  discontinued,  I  think  my  appetite  has  improved  and 
my  countenance  looks  better. 

"  I  feel  no  fear  at  all  at  the  prospect  before  me.  I  have 
no  wish  to  put  off  the  evil  day.  At  my  solicitation,  it  was 
agreed  to  perform  the  operation  a  week  before  the  time 
appointed.  I  wished  to  have  it  done  before  my  parents 
knew  that  the  time  was  appointed.  I  would  not  have  them 
here  in  the  city  at  the  time  for  any  thing.  I  shall  thus  save 
them  the  pain  of  suspense  while  I  am  under  the  knife.  A 
consultation  of  seven  of  the  first  surgeons  in  Boston  decided 
on  my  case.  I  told  them  I  wished  them  to  understand,  be- 
fore they  recommended  any  thing  new,  that  I  was  ready  to 
suffer  amputation  at  any  moment.  As  a  last  trial,  they  put 
me  on  a  course  of  mercury  for  a  week,  and  then  at  my 
solicitation  gave  it  up,  and  agreed  to  cut  immediately.  Our 
parents  will  remain  in  ignorance  until  all  is  over.  I  wrote 
them  a  few  days  since,  in  order  to  reconcile  their  minds  to 
the  measure,  but  left  them  under  the  impression  that  it 
would  not  happen  under  two  weeks.  Father's  ship  will  be 
launched  to-morrow  at  twelve,  and  my  leg  cut  off  at  eleven, 
—  a  curious  coincidence.  The  nearer  the  time  approaches, 
the  cooler  I  feel  about  the  matter.  It  does  not  trouble  me 


XX  MEMOIR. 

in  the  least.     Though  the  knife  will  pain  me,  it  will  be  but 
for  a  few  moments.     I  '11  put  in  a  P.  S.  after  the  operation. 
"  Adieu.  —  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  JAMES  KENNARD,  JR. 

"  Nov.  7.  —  All  is  over.  Not  half  so  bad  as  I  thought. 
Have  been  rather  feverish  and  restless  since  the  operation, 
but  am  now  getting  quite  calm.  Doctor  says  I  arn  doing  well. 

"  Expect  father  and  mother  to-day.     Yours  truly, 

«  J.  K.  JR." 

Mr.  Kennard's  parents  went  to  Boston  on  the  7th 
of  November,  and  found  James  apparently  at  the 
point  of  death,  from  an  erysipelatous  inflammation  in 
the  limb  which  had  been  subjected  to  the  operation, 
and  a  sympathetic  febrile  affection  of  the  whole 
system.  After  a  few  days  these  symptoms  abated, 
and  his  recovery  was  very  rapid.  Towards  the  close 
of  December,  he  wrote  to  his  parents  that  he  would 
be  shortly  permitted  to  return  home.  They  went 
immediately  to  Boston,  to  accompany  him  on  the 
then  long  and  tedious  ride  j  but  found  that  he  had 
anticipated  them,  and  returned  the  same  day  by  a 
different  route.  For  several  months,  he  appeared  to 
be  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  most  vigorous  health. 
He  walked  easily  and  freely  with  the  aid  of  a  crutch, 
and  was  patiently  waiting  for  the  entire  cicatriza- 
tion of  the  maimed  limb,  to  avail  himself  of  the 
support  of  an  artificial  leg.  But  in  July,  1838,  his 
left  knee  suddenly  became  swollen  and  inflamed,  and 
was  for  a  long  period  the  seat  of  more  intense  suf- 


MEMOIR.  XXI 

fering  than  he  had  ever  experienced  before.     From 
that  time  he  never  walked.     A  small  carriage  was 
procured  for  him,  and  in  this,  for  a  few  months, 
he  was  occasionally  drawn  to  take  the  air,  or  to  visit 
his  friends.     This,  however,  he  could  use  but  for  a 
little  while,  as  all  motion  soon  grew  intensely  pain- 
ful.    After  a  short  period  it  became  apparent  that 
the  process  of  ossification  was  taking  place  in  the 
remaining  knee-joint,  and  in  the  joints  of  the  elbows, 
wrists,  and  fingers.     Thenceforward  he  was  confined 
almost  entirely  to  his  chamber,  and  for  the  greater 
part  of  every  day  to  his  bed,  with  much  less  power 
of  self-help  than  a  new-born  infant.     He  was  occa- 
sionally brought  down  stairs  till  the  summer  of  1841, 
when  he  found  that  he  could  no  longer  bear  removal, 
except  that  with  the  most  careful  preparation,  and 
with  the  utmost  delicacy  of  touch,   he  was  taken 
daily  from  his  bed,  and  placed  for  an  hour  or  two  in 
his  easy-chair.     Within  a  year  after  his  return  from 
the  hospital,  he  became  unable  so  much  as  to  raise 
his  hand  to  his  head,   or  to  assist  himself   in  the 
least  in  taking  his  food.     A  very  limited  power  of 
action  remained  in  his  right  wrist,  and  in  two   or 
three  of  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand.     His  eyesight, 
however,  was  still  unimpaired,  and  his  mental  indus- 
try, with  book  and  pen,  exceeded  in  amount  that  of 
most  professed  students  and  scholars.     A  frame  was 


XX11  MEMOIR. 

fitted  to  his  bed,  and  on  this  his  book  was  so  placed, 
that  he  could  turn  over  the  leaves  with  the  aid  of  a 
small  wand ;  and  on  the  same  frame  his  writing-ap- 
paratus was  so  adjusted,  that  he  could  write  in  a  per- 
fectly legible  and  clear  hand,  though,  except  at  the 
very  first,  only  in  double  columns  on  a  letter-sheet 
of  the  ordinary  size,  the  gradual  induration  of  the 
wrist  allowing  his  fingers  only  that  narrow  range  of 
motion.  In  this  way  he  penned  the  greater  part  of 
the  contents  of  this  volume,  besides  numerous  arti- 
cles for  the  weekly  press,  and  very  many  pieces,  both 
in  prose  and  verse,  which  have  never  been  printed  ; 
and  conducted  at  the  same  time  an  extensive  and 
increasing  correspondence  with  relatives,  friends, 
authors,  editors,  arid  not  a  few  whom  he  had  never 
known  personally,  but  who  had  become  deeply  in- 
terested in  him  by  the  report  of  his  talents,  merits, 
and  sufferings. 

But  even  this  resource  was  soon  to  fail  him.  In 
November,  1844,  while  reading  a  badly  printed  book, 
he  was  seized  with  inflammation  in  the  right  eye,  and 
suffered  so  agonizingly,  that  all  that  he  had  pre- 
viously endured  seemed  trifling  in  the  comparison. 
The  left  eye,  of  course,  was  sympathetically  affected. 
The  residue  of  his  life  was  spent  with  a  deep  shade 
over  his  face,  and  in  a  darkened  room.  Similar 
attacks  of  inflammation  ensued  at  uncertain  intervals, 


MEMOIR.  XX111 

and  were  generally  about  a  week  in  duration.  When 
not  violently  inflamed,  the  eye  could  not  bear  a  direct 
ray  of  light  without  severe  pain,  and  the  shade  was 
never  lifted  from  his  face,  except  to  afford  him  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  some  countenance  which  he 
was  unwilling  to  forget.  During  the  paroxysms  of 
this  new  disease,  he  was  able  to  speak  only  in  the 
faintest  whisper,  and  could  hardly  bear  the  sound  of 
another  voice.  But  in  the  intervals  he  still  con- 
tinued his  literary  pursuits  and  his  correspondence, 
with  the  aid  of  his  sisters  and  a  numerous  corps  of 
friends,  who  were  all  emulous  of  the  privilege  of 
serving  as  his  readers  and  amanuenses.  How  cheer- 
fully he  bore  this  last  and  sorest  privation  of  all  may 
be  seen  from  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  a 
favorite  cousin  in  Boston,  —  the  first  that  he  had 
dictated  to  him  since  his  inability  to  write.  We 
should  not  insert  this  quotation,  did  it  not  stand  in 
the  most  perfect  and  beautiful  accordance  with  the 
whole  tone  of  feeling  and  spirit  which  marked  every 
day  of  his  now  sightless  life.  The  letter  bears  date 
January  12th,  1845. 

"  You  will  doubtless  be  astonished  at  the  alteration  of  my 
handwriting;  but  my  experience  goes  to  prove,  that,  the  more 
I  am  deprived  of  the  usual  aids,  such  as  eyes,  hands,  joints, 
&c.,  the  better  I  can  write,  and  the  easier  I  can  get  along  in 
every  way.  Just  shut  up  your  eyes,  chop  off  your  hands, 
and  try  it.  If  you  only  have  faith  and  a  good  amanuensis, 


XXIV  MEMOIR. 

my  word  for  it,  you  will  succeed  to  perfection.  I  feel  in 
such  high  spirits  about  it,  that  I  intend  soon  to  commence 
writing  my  life,  and  expect  to  become  as  renowned  as  Mil- 
ton, and  to  get  more  for  my  book,  to  be  entitled,  'The  Life  of 
an  Invalid,'  than  he  did  for  his  Paradise  Lost,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  fame." 

Nearly  coincident,  in  point  of  time,  with  Mr.  Ken- 
nard's  loss  of  vision,  was  the  severest  affliction  of  his 
life,  —  the  death  of  the  mother,  whose  daily  prayer 
had  been  that  she  might  outlive  her  suffering  son. 
In  many  beautiful  traits  of  mind  and  heart  had  he 
reflected  her  image,  and  borne  the  impress  of  her 
fidelity.  In  his  early  years,  his  father  had  been  an 
enterprising  and  successful  shipmaster,  and,  though 
eminently  faithful  in  all  domestic  relations  and  du- 
ties, had  been  so  much  of  the  time  absent  from  his 
family,  that  James  may  be  said  to  have  grown  up 
almost  wholly  under  his  mother's  guidance  :  and,  in 
his  infirmity  and  pain,  she  had  watched  by  his  bed- 
side, entered  with  entire  sympathy  into  all  his  plans 
and  pursuits,  and  made  herself  seemingly  as  essen- 
tial to  his  existence  as  she  was  in  his  infancy  and 
childhood.  Her  sickness  was  lotig,  and  marked  by 
the  frequent  alternation  of  hopeful  and  discouraging 
symptoms.  While  the  case  remained  doubtful,  he 
was  deeply  agitated.  When  a  fatal  issue  became 
certain,  he  grew  calm,  and  even  cheerful ;  and,  when 
the  last  scene  was  over,  consolation,  strength,  and 


MEMOIR.  XXV 

peace  seemed  to  flow  from  his  chamber  for  the 
whole  grief-stricken  family.  But  his  serenity  of 
spirit  resulted,  no  doubt,  from  a  conflict,  in  which 
his  slender  residue  of  physical  strength  was  essen- 
tially impaired. 

Though  he  never  ceased  to  feel  the  void  created 
in  the  circle  of  his  affections  by  his  mother's  removal, 
yet,  as  regarded  all  the  outward  offices  of  motherly 
care  and  tenderness,  he  sustained  no  loss.  His  sisters 
had  become  thoroughly  versed  in  all  that  appertained 
to  his  comfort,  and  deemed  no  privilege  so  great  as 
that  of  attendance  on  their  invalid  brother.  And  one 
other  friend  there  was,  in  humble  life,  but  of  a  noble 
heart,  whose  extraordinary  bodily  strength  had  long 
rendered  her  services  absolutely  indispensable.  We 
refer  to  Nancy  Sherburne,  (the  Nancy  commemorated 
in  one  of  the  poems  in  this  volume,)  an  elderly 
woman,  who,  on  his  return  from  the  hospital,  was  offi- 
ciating as  cook  in  his  father's  family.  From  the 
first,  she  took  great  pleasure  in  rendering  him  what- 
ever assistance  he  demanded.  When  he  was  disabled 
from  walking,  she  drew  him  in  his  carriage,  and  bore 
him  in  her  arms  over  the  staircase.  As  he  grew 
more  helpless,  she  gradually  suspended  her  other 
duties,  and  devoted  herself  wholly  to  the  care  of 
him,  remaining  perpetually  within  call  by  day  and 
night,  and  so  strongly  attached  to  her  charge,  that 


XXVI  MEMOIR. 

other  friends  could  hardly  win  permission  of  her 
to  perform  for  him  any  service  that  lay  within  her 
power.  She  lifted  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  infant, 
and  with  a  grasp  as  gentle  as  it  was  firm.  There 
were  frequently  times,  when  even  the  adjustment  of 
his  pillows  by  a  less  skilful  hand  than  hers  would 
have  given  him  excruciating  torture,  and  the  hour- 
long  process  by  which  alone  he  could  be  conveyed 
from  his  bed  to  his  chair,  a  process  as  delicate  as  if 
his  frame  had  been  strung  with  threads  of  glass, 
demanded  more  than  a  common  man's  strength,  and 
all  of  a  woman's  love.  Had  he  been  her  own  child, 
she  could  not  have  loved  him  better  j  and,  though  a 
a  person  of  the  scantiest  education,  and  bearing  no 
outward  marks  of  refinement,  she  gradually  grew 
into  a  sympathy  of  spirit  and  character  with  him, 
and  evidently  derived  the  richest  recompense  for  her 
self-denying  toil  in  the  improvement  and  elevation 
of  her  whole  moral  nature.  His  attachment  to  her 
was  only  less  than  filial ;  and  one  of  his  last  requests 
was,  that  room  for  Nancy  should  be  left  at  his  side 
in  the  family  inclosure  at  the  cemetery. 

Early  in  the  year  1847,  Mr.  Kennard  had  three 
successive  attacks  of  influenza,  which  greatly  re- 
duced and  enfeebled  him.  He  recovered,  however, 
so  far  as  to  take  much  interest  in  the  construction  of 
a  rocking-chair  of  his  own  contrivance,  in  which  he 


MEMOIR.  XXV11 

hoped  to  enjoy  some  little  measure  of  exercise  with- 
out suffering.  With  how  much  buoyancy  of  spirit, 
in  his  helpless  and  sightless  condition,  he  could  re- 
gard even  this  slender  alleviation  of  his  confinement, 
will  appear  from  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
to  his  cousin,  dated  May  6th,  1847. 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  me  rocking  in  my  chair,  while  I 
dictate ;  my  new  chair,  mind  ye.  It  is  a  regular  hobby- 
horse, only  it  has  not  any  head,  and  I  don't  exactly  bestride 
it ;  but  I  rock,  Sir,  in  the  most  elegant,  long,  swinging 
fashion,  and  with  the  greatest  ease.  This  gait  is  very 
agreeable  to  me,  after  remaining  so  many  years  a  fixture. 
The  slightest  touch  sets  m%  agoing ;  in  fact,  Sir,  it  is  the  latest 
improved  kind  of  perpetual  motion,  and  if  you  want  to  see 
the  machine  working,  you  had  better  come  soon,  or  it  will 
be  entirely  worn  out.  It  is  of  my  own  contrivance,  and  I 
consider  it  my  greatest  essay;  it  has  not  yet  travelled 
4  round  the  world,'  but  I  am  expecting  every  day  when  it 
will  '  make  the  circuit  of  the  globe,'  as  B.  says ;  for  Nancy 
declares  that  I  go  to  Boston  and  back  in  it,  every  day. 
That  is  the  way  she  dignifies  my  morning  exercise." 

This  was  one  of  the  last  letters  that  he  dictated. 
Shortly  after  it  was  written,  he  became  alarmingly 
ill  with  an  attack  of  nausea.  Prom  this  he  recov- 
ered, and  remained  in  his  usual  health,  though  feeble 
and  languid,  till  July  22d,  when  the  nausea  returned. 
Nature  was  now  exhausted,  and  medical  treatment 
proved  unavailing.  The  disease  of  the  stomach 
was  probably  the  last  symptom  of  an  entire  function- 
al derangement.  For  six  days  his  sufferings  were 


XXV111  MEMOIR. 

acute  and  constant,  yet  borne,  not  with  patience 
merely,  but  with  entire  self-possession,  and  unclouded 
serenity  of  spirit.  On  the  morning  of  July  28th, 
having  retained  his  consciousness  to  the  last  moment, 
and  after  several  hours  of  entire  freedom  from  pain, 
he  departed  this  life  in  perfect  peace. 

We  have  thus  followed  our  friend  through  the  suc- 
cessive stages  of  his  suffering,  decrepitude,  and  de- 
cline. And,  at  first  view,  it  might  seem  only  a  course 
of  disappointment,  sorrow,  and  agony.  He  was  a 
youth  of  the  most  active  habits  and  the  most  san- 
guine temperament,  in  full  s^npathy  with  all  the 
gayer  and  more  festive  aspects  of  life,  and  seemingly 
as  little  fitted  as  one  could  be  for  the  stern  discipline 
which  was  appointed  him.  Flattering  prospects  were 
opening  before  him.  With  superior  talents  for  busi- 
ness, with  friends  able  and  willing  to  place  him  on 
the  career  of  enterprise  under  the  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, his  hopes  were  blighted  at  the  very  age 
when  such  sacrifices  are  the  most  severely  felt,  and 
when  the  atmosphere  of  the  sick-chamber  seems  the 
most  uncongenial.  Yet  we  have  never  known  a 
happier  person.  A  word  of  discontentment,  mur- 
muring, or  repining  never  escaped  him.  His  coun- 
tenance, though  thin  and  wan,  bore  no  trace  of  grief 
or  care,  but  to  the  very  last  wore  an  expression,  not 
only  of  serenity,  but  even  of  joyousness.  His  cham- 


MEMOIR.  XXIX 

her  was  an  eminently  cheerful  place.  To  his  family 
and  his  friends,  it  was  not  the  scene  of  sad  and 
anxious  duty,  but  the  happiest  apartment  in  the 
house.  The  social  communings  by  his  bedside  are 
remembered  without  any  of  those  associations  of 
solicitude  and  gloom  that  are  wont  to  cluster  about 
our  reminiscences  of  even  the  most  patient  invalid. 
When  absent  from  him,  we  pitied  him ;  when  in  his 
presence,  we  forgot  that  he  was  a  sufferer,  and  re- 
joiced with  him.  Never  did  the  spirit  achieve  a 
more  entire  conquest  over  the  body,  —  never  can 
the  independence  of  the  soul  on  the  mortal  frame 
have  been  more  fully  manifested,  —  never  can  more 
of  heaven  have  been  witnessed  on  earth. 

Of  course,  a  victory  so  entire  could  not  have  been 
won  without  strong  religious  faith.  He  was  early 
the  subject  of  judicious  and  faithful  religious  instruc- 
tion ;  and  his  sincere  interest  in  the  great  themes  of 
Christian  doctrine  and  duty  was  attested  by  his  con- 
stant service  as  a  Sunday-school  teacher,  from  the 
time  that  he  ceased  to  be  a  pupil  till  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  go  to  the  house  of  worship.  From 
the  period  of  his  residence  at  the  hospital,  religious 
faith  seemed  the  very  atmosphere  of  his  being.  His 
trust  in  a  merciful  Providence  was  implicit  and  un- 
wavering. The  truths  of  Christianity  were  fully 
verified  in  his  daily  experience,  and  assumed  in  his 


XXX  MEMOIR. 

mind  the  form  of  self-evident  propositions,  too  plainly 
written  on  the  tablets  of  the  heart  to  need  the  out- 
ward evidence  so  essential  to  persons  of  a  less  ele- 
vated religious  consciousness.  But  this  evidence, 
though  to  him  no  longer  needful,  he  still  held  sacred. 
It  formed  the  steps  of  the  ladder  on  which  he  had 
risen  as  from  earth  to  heaven ;  and,  for  the  sake  of 
those  who  were  still  toiling  up  the  ascent,  he  would 
not  have  removed  the  steps.  Immediate  revelation 
could  hardly  have  strengthened  his  belief  in  immor- 
tality. His  views  of  death,  and  of  the  reunion  of 
friends  beyond  the  grave,  were  eminently  cheerful. 
He  was  at  all  times  ready  to  die ;  yet  was  too  happy 
to  long  for  dissolution.  On  the  very  last  day  of  his 
life,  he  said,  —  "  Although  I  have  no  fear  of  death, 
nor  doubt  of  future  blessedness,  I  would  willingly 
recover  and  stay  longer  here,  my  life  has  been  so 
happy." 

In  estimating  the  sources  of  his  happiness,  his 
prompt  and  generous  social  sympathies  demand  dis- 
tinct notice.  We  never  knew  a  more  unselfish  being. 
He  never  talked  about  his  own  trials,  and  cut  off  the 
kindly  inquiries  of  visitors  with  the  briefest  answers 
consistent  with  courtesy.  But  in  every  thing,  were  it 
little  or  great,  sad  or  joyful,  that  concerned  the  wel- 
fare of  kindred,  friends,  or  acquaintance,  he  mani- 
fested the  warmest  interest.  As  his  coevals  came 


MEMOIR.  XXXI 

forward  to  occupy  prominent  arid  prosperous  places 
in  life,  no  matter  how  remotely  from  him  their  lot 
was  cast,  he  took  diligent  note  of  their  successes  and 
their  honors,  and  never  seemed  more  happy  than 
when  apprised  of  their  merited  good  fortune.  Nor 
were  opportunities  wanting  for  what  we  might  term 
his  active  benevolence.  Very  many  were  the  plans  for 
individual  and  social  improvement  and  benefit  which 
had  birth  from  his  suggestion,  and  were  matured 
at  his  bedside.  Very  many  were  the  mutually  ad- 
vantageous acquaintances  and  friendships  formed 
through  his  agency.  Very  many  were  the  wrong 
stories  set  right,  the  characters  vindicated,  the  kind 
interpretations  made  current,  by  his  instrumentality. 
There  were  not  a  few  who  never  undertook  any 
thing  aside  from  the  routine  of  business,  without 
resorting  to  him  for  sympathy,  encouragement,  and 
counsel ;  and  still  more  there  were  who  would  have 
deemed  a  good  book  unread,  a  pleasant  journey  un- 
finished, a  happy  chapter  in  life  incomplete,  till  they 
had  talked  it  over  with  him.  Of  course,  with  such 
a  spirit,  he  never  lacked  society,  or  assistance  in  his 
literary  studies  and  labors.  His  reader  or  amanuensis 
for  the  time  being  was  conscious  of  receiving,  not 
conferring,  obligation  ;  and  there  were  several,  not  of 
his  own  household,  who  for  years  devoted  certain 
portions  of  each  day  or  week  to  him,  with  the  feel- 


XXX11  MEMOIR. 

ing  that  they  were  doing  much  more  for  themselves 
than  for  him.  Indeed,  it  has  often  been  remarked, 
that  no  one  ever  visited  him,  or  performed  any  ser- 
vice for  him,  simply  as  an  act  of  kindness,  but  always 
in  the  temper  and  spirit  in  which  the  most  pleasant 
social  engagement  would  be  made  and  kept. 

Sympathies  thus  active  could  not  be  confined 
within  the  circle  immediately  around  him.  He  kept 
himself  constantly  informed  of  every  phasis  and 
movement  of  social  and  political  life,  and  took  a  deep 
interest  in  all  plans  and  measures  of  reform  and  phi- 
lanthropy. His  ethics  were  entirely  of  the  Christian 
school.  He  called  evil,  wrong,  and  sin  by  their 
own  names,  and  admitted  in  justification  of  them 
neither  ancient  prescription,  nor  venerable  authority, 
nor  the  most  plausible  grounds  of  expediency.  Yet 
he  was  most  tolerant  in  his  judgment  of  the  motives 
both  of  individuals  and  bodies  of  men ;  and,  while 
he  strikingly  verified  that  portion  of  St.  Paul's  des- 
cription of  charity,  "rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but 
rejoiceth  in  the  truth,"  his  considerate  candor  and 
his  confidence  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  Right 
and  the  Good  reminded  us  of  those  other  traits  in 
the  same  sketch,  "  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 
things."  He  early  became  warmly  interested  in  the 
cause  of  the  slave,  not  as  an  Ishmaelitish  partisan  of 
some  one  idea  of  emancipation  or  some  one  unvary- 


MEMOIR.  XXX111 

ing  mode  of  agitation,  but  in  communion  of  spirit 
with  all  who,  with  the  slightest  measure  of  sincerity, 
gave  their  efforts,  influence,  or  simple  Godspeed,  to 
the  work.  On  all  subjects  of  this  class,  as  well  as 
on  the  politics  of  the  nation,  he  united,  to  a  degree 
perhaps  almost  unattainable  by  one  not  withdrawn 
from  the  turmoil  of  active  life,  decided  opinions, 
strong  preferences,  and  the  most  comprehensive  fel- 
lowship for  all  of  every  party  whose  aims  and  pur- 
poses seemed  patriotic,  philanthropic,  and  benevolent. 
Nor  were  his  judgments  on  such  matters  those  of  a 
secluded  theorist,  or  founded  on  a  defective  and  one- 
sided acquaintance  with  facts  and  circumstances. 
The  accuracy  with  which  he  kept  himself  informed 
as  to  all  the  significant  transactions,  movements,  and 
speculations  of  the  passing  day,  in  fine,  of  every 
thing  worthy  of  a  benevolent  curiosity,  alike  in  the 
larger  and  the  narrower  circle,  excited  our  contin- 
ual surprise.  It  seemed  as  if  the  figures  of  all  the 
prominent  actors  in  the  great  drama  and  in  all  the 
little  by-plots  were  perpetually  passing  and  repassing 
before  his  eye,  as  in  the  mirror  of  a  camera  obscura. 
Mr.  Kennard's  literary  attainments  and  activity, 
though  by  no  means  the  most  interesting,  present 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  aspects  of  his  charac- 
ter. From  the  preceding  sketch  of  his  life,  it  will 
be  seen  that  he  was  far  from  having  received  a  schol- 
d 


XXXIV  MEMOIR. 

arly  education.  The  studies  of  his  boyhood  had  been 
chiefly  directed  with  reference  to  his  destination  for 
the  counting-room ;  and,  though  faithfully  pursued, 
they  were  closed  at  too  early  an  age  for  extensive  ac- 
quisition. But,  during  the  last  nine  years  of  his  life, 
he  made  himself  a  thorough  proficient  in  many  de- 
partments of  historical,  critical,  and  elegant  literature. 
He  was  satisfied  only  with  the  most  accurate  knowl- 
edge. If  an  unfamiliar  location  was  referred  to,  he 
inquired  at  once  its  place  on  the  map.  If  an  un- 
known historical  personage  was  named,  he  sought 
out  his  history.  If  a  new  word  occurred,  he  never 
passed  it  by,  without  ascertaining  its  etymology  and 
its  exact  significance.  He  was  master  of  that  most 
essential  element  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
the  art  of  shaping  questions.  On  every  subject,  he 
seemed  to  understand  intuitively  just  what  to  ask, 
what  were  the  points  really  at  issue,  what  the  prime 
topics  of  investigation,  what  the  collateral  sources  of 
evidence  or  illustration. 

The  impulse  which  made  him  an  author  it  is  not 
difficult  to  define,  yet  to  some  minds  it  may  be  hard 
to  understand.  He  had  no  thought  of  fame,  nay, 
seemed  unconscious  to  the  last  of  the  degree  to 
which  his  productions  had  attracted  notice  and  found 
circulation.  He  was  led  to  write,  we  believe,  solely 
from  the  desire  to  be  useful.  He  felt  the  importance 


MEMOIR.  XXXV 

of  his  own  opinions,  and  was  solicitous  to  make 
others  feel  them.  The  editor  of  the  Portsmouth 
Journal  was  his  friend  and  neighbour,  and  that  quite 
extensively  circulated  paper  was  his  first,  and  for 
some  time  his  only,  medium  of  communication  with 
the  public.  He  commenced  by  furnishing  articles 
almost  every  week,  under  the  signature  of  "  Vattel," 
on  such  subjects  as  from  time  to  time  occupied  a 
prominent  place  in  the  general  mind,  especially  on 
the  moral  bearings  of  the  great  political  questions, 
and  on  the  reformation  of  existing  wrongs  and  evils. 
Many  of  these  pieces  were  extensively  copied,  and 
read  by  thousands.  Some  of  them  were  among  his 
choicest  productions,  and  might  have  occupied  a 
place  in  this  volume  to  the  exclusion  of  much  of  the 
excellent  matter  that  we  have  inserted,  had  not  the 
occasions  on  which  they  were  written,  and  the  ques- 
tions which  they  discussed,  so  far  passed  out  of  mind, 
as  to  deprive  them  of  much  of  their  original  interest. 
When  he  became  known  as  a  writer,  he  was  solicited 
to  furnish  articles  to  be  read  before  the  literary  asso- 
ciations of  the  town.  Subsequently  he  was  urged 
to  become  a  writer  for  several  of  the  leading  literary 
publications  of  the  day,  especially  for  the  Knicker- 
bocker, the  editor  of  which  repeatedly  expressed  a 
high  sense  of  obligation  to  him  for  his  valuable  con- 
tributions. 


XXXVI  MEMOIR. 

His  earliest  poetical  pieces,  so  far  as  known,  were 
written  to  beguile  the  occasional  loneliness  of  his 
residence  in  Florida.  As  his  thoughts  flowed  readily 
in  verse,  he  afterwards  adopted  that  medium  for  the 
record  of  his  personal  experiences,  his  reminiscences 
of  boyhood,  his  solitary  and  midnight  musings,  his 
sources  of  support  and  consolation.  At  the  same 
time,  whether  in  a  playful  or  a  more  sober  mood, 
he  often  threw  into  a  metrical  form  his  offerings  of 
congratulation  or  sympathy  to  his  personal  friends. 
Subsequently  he  adopted  this  mode  for  the  more 
energetic  expression  of  his  opinions  or  emotions,  on 
a  large  range  of  moral  and  religious  subjects.  After 
the  publication  of  some  of  these  pieces,  requests  for 
poetical  contributions  flowed  in  upon  him  from  vari- 
ous quarters.  Thus,  with  the  most  modest  appreci- 
ation of  his  own  poetical  genius,  he  has  left  in  print 
and  manuscript  compositions  of  this  class,  of  a  high 
order  of  merit,  numerous  enough  of  themselves  to 
have  filled  the  present  volume.  One  of  the  pieces, 
which  will  be  found  in  the  selection  now  printed, 
has  a  singular  history  attached  to  it.  We  refer  to 
the  poem  entitled,  "What  shall  I  ask  in  Prayer?" 
It  was  the  spontaneous  effusion  of  his  own  spirit  at 
an  early  period  of  his  confinement.  It  was  one  of 
the  first  of  his  published  pieces,  (under  his  usual  sig- 
nature of  Vattel,)  in  the  Portsmouth  Journal,  from 


MEMOIR.  XXXV11 

which  it  was  subsequently  copied  into  other  papers. 
Two  persons,  strangers  to  each  other,  and  ignorant 
of  his  signature,  both  of  whom  had  been  deeply 
afflicted,  at  different  times  cut  this  poem  from  news- 
papers, and  sent  it  to  him,  expressing  the  hope  that  a 
piece  from  which  they  had  derived  great  consolation 
might  open  sources  of  comfort  to  him  under  his 
heavy  trial.  He  was  deeply  moved  by  this  experi- 
ence. "  I  never  was  more  gratified,"  said  he  ;  "  for  I 
then  felt,  that,  if  any  thing  that  I  had  written  had 
comforted  and  supported  those  in  affliction,  I  had 
not  lived  in  vain."  On  his  death-bed,  he  requested, 
with  characteristic  modesty,  that  no  obituary  notice 
of  himself  should  be  furnished  for  the  public  prints. 
His  friend  of  the  Portsmouth  Journal,  reluctantly 
acceding  to  this  prohibition,  and  without  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  circumstances  just  related,  in  connection 
with  the  simple  statement  of  his  age  and  the  date 
of  his  removal,  reprinted  this  poem  as  peculiarly  con- 
genial with  the  life,  and  expressive  of  the  character, 
of  the  deceased. 

In  closing  this  sketch,  we  must  be  permitted  to 
refer  for  a  moment  to  the  light  cast  by  the  subject  of 
it  on  the  true  sources  of  happiness.  "  Mens  sana 
in  corpore  sano,  —  A  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body," 
—  has  come  down  to  us  from  remote  antiquity,  as 
a  proverbial  expression  of  the  essential  conditions 


XXXV111  MEMOIR. 

of  earthly  felicity ;  and  there  are  multitudes  who 
feel,  that,  with  an  elastic  bodily  constitution,  they 
could  brave  and  outlive  the  sternest  buffetings  of 
calamity,  could  sail  through  stormy  seas  and  under 
lowering  heavens,  who  yet  would  regard  chronic  and 
wasting  illness  as  an  intolerable  burden.  There  is, 
indeed,  no  person  who  seems  entitled  to  so  much 
commiseration  as  one  equally  removed  from  life  and 
death,  poised  between  the  two  worlds,  the  outward 
man  perishing  without  hope  of  restoration,  and  yet 
so  slowly  that  it  may  be  years  in  dying,  while  for 
those  years  there  cannot  be  one  moment's  conscious- 
ness of  health,  or  free  use  of  limbs,  or  respite  from 
suffering,  or  natural  repose.  Bat  instances  like  this 
show  us  that  the  sound  body  may  be  dispensed 
with,  if  the  sound  mind  be  retained,  if  the  heart  be 
right  and  true,  sincere  and  pure,  generous  and  devout. 
They  prove  that  the  soul  has  a  life  of  its  own,  a  sep- 
arate interest,  a  peace  and  joy  independent  of  its 
bodily  environment.  And  is  there  not,  in  a  life- 
experience  like  this,  a  distinct  foreshadowing,  or 
rather  foreshining,  of  immortality?  Must  not  the 
soul  that  remains  thus  unscathed  as  the  body  wastes, 
that  grows  with  the  increase  of  infirmity,  that  clothes 
itself  in  new  beauty  while  limb  after  limb  and  sense 
after  sense  refuse  their  office,  that  beneath  the  death- 
shadow  looks  forth  from  the  mutilated  and  worn-out 


MEMOIR.  XXXIX 

wreck  in  calm  and  holy  triumph,  live  on,  when  dust 
returns  to  dust  ?  Why  should  not  the  spirit,  which 
survives  the  maiming  and  decay  of  the  body,  survive 
its  dissolution  also?  Why  needs  it  the  frame  to 
whose  healthy  action  it  has  manifested  such  supreme 
indifference  ?  And  if  so  much  of  heaven  can  he 
enjoyed  under  the  severest  pressure  of  earthly  calam- 
ity, how  can  the  human  heart  worthily  conceive  of 
that  heaven  of  which  it  is  written,  —  "  There  shall  be 
no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  neither  shall  there  be 
any  more  pain  "  ? 


PROSE   WRITINGS 


ECONOMY.* 


GLANCING  superficially  at  the  civilized  world,  one 
would  think  this  a  very  economical  age.  Innumer- 
able are  the  contrivances  for  the  saving  of  labor,  both 
of  the  body  and  the  mind.  Time  and  space  are  al- 
most annihilated  in  travelling  over  the  natural  world  ; 
and  in  the  literary  world,  thought  also  is  rendered 
unnecessary,  to  such  a  degree  that  the  traveller 
through  that  mazy  region  may  almost  sleep  as  he 
goes,  so  small  is  the  mental  exertion  required  of 
him. 

In  every  thing  we  are  productive  ;  yet  are  we  the 
most  prodigal  nation  in  existence.  In  many  things 
we  are  truly  economical ;  in  others,  we  do  but  veri- 
fy the  old  proverb,  —  "  Penny- wise  and  pound-fool- 
ish." 

My  subject  is  Economy,  physical  and  mental,  po- 
litical and  social,  real  and  false.  In  physical  econ- 
omy no  age  ever  equalled  the  present.  Earth,  air, 
fire,  and  water  are  apparently  turned  to  their  utmost 
account.  Railroads,  canals,  turnpikes,  and  aque- 

*  A  Lecture  written  for  the  Portsmouth  Lyceum,  in  1841. 


4  ECONOMY. 

ducts  form  a  vast  network  over  the  land  ;  steam- 
ships and  sail-craft  of  every  kind  cover  the  ocean 
and  bays  ;  the  leviathan  steamboat  is  heard  panting 
and  puffing  on  our  mighty  rivers  ;  the  hum  of  busy 
commerce  never  ceases  in  our  cities  ;  and  the  buzz- 
ing of  machinery  and  the  clank  of  the  engine  are 
heard  in  every  village. 

The  waterfall,  once  hidden  in  the  depth  of  the  pri- 
meval forest,  and  visited  by  travellers  from  distant 
parts,  through  toil  and  danger,  as  a  wonderful  natural 
curiosity,  is  now  turned  from  its  wonted  course  by 
means  of  dams  and  canals,  and  made  to  labor  for  the 
benefit  of  man ;  while  around  it  a  busy  village  takes 
the  place  of  the  hoary  woods,  and  through  the  mul- 
titude of  man's  inventions  the  aspect  of  the  place  is 
entirely  changed.  What  was  before  valuable  as  a 
piece  of  natural  scenery  is  now  esteemed  a  matter  of 
dollars  and  cents.  The  age  of  romance  has,  for  that 
spot,  passed  away  for  ever  ;  its  age  of  utility  has 
commenced. 

The  example  is  infectious  ;  every  beautiful  cas- 
cade, every  thundering  cataract,  is  looked  upon  as  a 
matter  of  speculation  ;  and  does  the  solitary  travel- 
ler, the  ardent  lover  of  Nature,  discover  a  new  won- 
der of  this  sort,  as  yet  hidden  in  the  depth  of  the 
ancient  woods,  and  far  removed  from  the  profaning 
footstep  of  the  manufacturer,  he  cannot  even  then 
indulge  long  in  unmixed  love  of  the  beautiful,  or  ad- 
miration of  the  sublime.  The  thought  will  intrude, 
"  How  will  this  noble  specimen  of  Nature's  handi- 
work be  one  day  marred  by  the  handiwork  of  man  !  " 


ECONOMY. 


5 


Ay,  that  it  will,  right  soon  !  and  so  should  it  be,  if  the 
wants  of  man  demand  it,  or  his  happiness  will  be 
thereby  promoted.  Bread  for  the  body,  bread  for  the 
multitude,  is  needed,  as  well  as  pretty  sights  for  the 
favored  few  to  gaze  upon. 

We  have  pierced  the  earth  in  all  directions  for 
mineral  productions  ;  we  press  the  winds  into  our 
service,  and  hunt  the  leviathan  on  the  boundless 
deep  ;  we  compel  those  two  antagonist  principles, 
fire  and  water,  to  work  together  for  our  good  ;  the 
ocean  is  no  longer  a  barrier  to  our  progress  ;  the  val- 
leys rise,  the  hills  sink,  and  mountains  are  almost  lit- 
erally removed  and  cast  into  the  sea.  "  The  crook- 
ed roads  are  made  straight,  and  the  rough  ways 
smooth." 

We  have  done  all  this ;  yet  how  have  we  done  it  ? 
Has  it  been  done  economically  ? 

By  all  this  vast  system  of  internal  improvements 
and  of  intercommunication  between  nations  great 
good  has  doubtless  been  accomplished.  The  hidden 
resources  of  the  country  have  been  brought  to  light  ; 
the  useless  has  been  made  valuable  ;  and  wealth  has 
taken  the  place  of  poverty.  But  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, that  the  actuating  spirit  in  all  these  enterprises, 
the  dominant  motive,  has  been  love  of  money,  which, 
it  has  been  said,  "  is  the  root  of  evil."  However 
that  may  be,  Providence  has  so  ordered  this  great 
ruling  passion  of  our  nature,  that  the  good  which  re~ 
suits  from  its  gratification  greatly  exceeds  the  evil. 
And  this  will,  undoubtedly,  on  a  careful  examina- 
tion, be  found  to  be  the  case  (so  far  as  the  whole 
1* 


0  ECONOMY. 

race  is  concerned)  with  every  passion  of  the  human 
heart.  Still,  as  all  the  works  of  man  are  necessarily 
imperfect,  so  we,  although  the  most  pains-taking, 
time-saving,  labor-saving,  and  money-saving  people 
on  earth,  have  committed  many  grand  errors  in  car- 
rying our  money-making  plans  into  execution.  That 
which  was  begun  in  a  spirit  of  economy  has  been 
prosecuted  extravagantly.  That  which  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  safe  investment  has  turned  out  a  ruin- 
ous speculation.  And  where  this  has  not  been  the 
case,  where  pecuniary  success  has  crowned  our  ef- 
forts, the  waste  of  human  life  has  been,  and  contin- 
ues to  be,  deplorably  great,  and  the  wear  and  tear 
of  morals  immense. 

True  economy  is  liberal,  far-sighted.  It  aims  at 
worthy  ends,  and  knows  how  to  adapt  means  there- 
to. In  fact,  true  economy  is  comprehensive  good 
management. 

Let  us  notice  a  few  of  the  great  changes  and  im- 
provements which  so  strikingly  mark  the  progress  of 
the  present  age,  and  examine  them  in  an  economical 
point  of  view.  Unavoidable  evils  should  be  endured 
with  philosophical  and  Christian  resignation  ;  but  it 
is  believed,  that,  in  following  out  many  of  our  plans 
of  improvement,  there  occurs,  incidentally,  an  unne- 
cessary demoralization  of  human  hearts,  a  weakening 
of  human  intellects,  and  a  useless  waste  of  human 
life. 

To  begin  with  the  latter.  Look  at  our  railroads, 
for  instance.  Fifty  lives  are  lost,  fifty  limbs  are 
broken,  now,  through  carelessness,  where  one  was, 


ECONOMY.  7 

under  the  old  stage-coach  system  of  travelling.  Rail- 
roads are  generally  constructed  with  but  one  track. 
Legislatures  ought  never  to  give  a  charter  in  which 
it  is  not  stipulated  that  two  tracks  shall  be  laid  on 
the  road ;  or,  if  they  deem  it  advisable  to  grant  char- 
ters for  roads  with  single  tracks,  they  should  at  least 
make  it  a  penal  offence  for  an  engineer  to  endanger 
the  lives  of  passengers  by  disobeying  orders  or  vary- 
ing from  the  regular  routine  prescribed  by  the  direct- 
ors. It  might  be  demonstrated,  that  any  projected 
railroad  route,  which  would  not  be  likely  to  warrant 
the  expense  of  laying  two  tracks,  ought  to  be  aban- 
doned, on  the  ground  that  it  is  not  sufficiently  de- 
manded by  the  business  wants  of  that  section  of  the 
country.  It  could  be  proved  to  be  true  pecuniary 
economy,  as  well  as  a  vast  saving  of  human  life,  to 
let  such  a  route  alone.  Had  the  States  of  our  Union 
been  governed  by  this  rule,  the  great  expense  in- 
volved in  the  construction  of  railroads  would  have 
effectually  prevented  their  engaging  in  many  of  the 
unprofitable  undertakings  which  now  hang  like 
millstones  around  their  necks,  and  bid  fair  to  sink 
some  of  them  irretrievably  in  the  gulf  of  bankruptcy 
and  disgrace. 

There  is  another  piece  of  parsimony  of  which 
every  railroad  corporation  in  our  country  has  been 
more  or  less  guilty.  I  refer  to  the  practice  of  mak- 
ing their  cuts  through  hills,  their  passages  by  via- 
ducts, and  their  tunnels  through  mountains,  so  nar- 
row and  low  as  constantly  to  endanger  the  lives  of 
passengers  and  officers.  It  is  surely  not  very  strange 


8  ECONOMY. 

or  blameworthy  in  an  inexperienced  traveller  on  rail- 
roads, when  he  finds  himself  in  sudden  darkness,  to 
thrust  his  head  out  to  see  what  is  the  matter.  A 
lucky  man  is  he,  in  this  saving  age,  if  he  gets  it  in 
again  without  having  his  brains  knocked  out.  This 
is  unpardonable  in  a  railroad  company.  It  is  laying  a 
trap  for  the  unsuspecting  passenger.  It  is  infringing 
on  that  well-known  rule,  —  "No  tricks  upon  travel- 
lers." 

The  practice  of  such  economy  should  be  discoun- 
tenanced and  frowned  upon  by  an  endangered  public. 
It  is  only  necessary  for  all  whose  lives  are  thus  in 
danger  of  being  trifled  with  to  speak  out  loudly,  by 
word  of  mouth,  and  through  the  press,  and  the  evil 
would  soon  be  remedied.  Travelling  on  railroads 
would  become  unpopular,  unless  these  obstacles  to 
safe  travelling  were  removed ;  and  that  route  on 
which  these  salutary  reforms  should  be  earliest  intro- 
duced would  reap  the  benefit,  and  win  golden  opin- 
ions from  all  men,  at  least,  from  all  travellers.  Oth- 
er companies  would  soon  follow  the  example  thus  set 
them,  and,  on  the  principle  of  economy,  would  make 
the  changes  demanded  of  them. 

The  travellers  on  railroads  are  surely  numerous 
enough  to  accomplish  the  reforms  necessary,  if  they 
would  but  speak  out.  But,  as  usual,  "  what  is  every- 
body's business  is  nobody's  business  "  ;  and  the  pub- 
lic will  probably  suffer  to  a  much  greater  extent  than 
has  yet  been  the  case,  before  it  will  rise  in  its  majes- 
ty and  put  down  these  crying  abuses. 

Among  the  numerous  societies  which  are  every- 


ECONOMY.  9 

where  springing  up,  for  the  furtherance  of  almost  ev- 
ery object  under  the  sun,  would  it  not  be  well  to  in- 
troduce and  organize  yet  one  more,  —  to  be  called 
the  Railroad  Reform  Society  ?  With  the  watch- 
word "  Agitation,"  and  with  all  the  machinery  of 
Presidents,  Corresponding  Secretaries,  and  Travelling 
Lecturers,  something  might  be  accomplished.  At 
any  rate,  we  recommend  the  consideration  of  this 
suggestion  to  all  who  are  afflicted  with  a  propensity 
for  society-making.  Here  is  a  large  field  for  their 
operations. 

What,  then  !  Shall  we  preach  a  crusade  against 
railroads,  because  of  a  few  incidental  evils  ?  By  no 
means.  The  good  which  they  produce  greatly  pre- 
dominates over  the  evil.  The  question  is,  whether 
the  abuses  may  not  be  reformed,  while  the  blessings 
are  retained  ;  whether  the  rotten  branches  of  the 
tree  may  not  be  lopped  off,  while  the  healthy  ones 
are  preserved.  Do  not  strike  at  the  root ;  it  is  as- 
suredly a  good  one.  As  well  might  one  have  all  his 
teeth  extracted,  because  he  occasionally  suffers  with 
the  toothache.  It  is  only  necessary  to  extirpate  the 
useless  ones,  and  fill  the  slightly  decayed.  There  is 
no  danger,  however,  that  men  will  ever  attempt  to 
do  without  teeth,  or  the  world  without  railroads,  or 
some  contrivance  which  will  afford  even  a  more  rapid 
mode  of  conveyance. 

To  railroads  and  canals  our  country  is  indebted 
much,  and  will  be  indebted  more.  In  a  commercial 
point  of  view,  they  furnish  great  facilities  for  the 
conveyance  of  produce  to  market,  and  thus  render 


10  ECONOMY. 

valuable  immense  sections  of  country  before  nearly 
worthless,  and  in  this  manner  wealth  and  prosperity 
are  spread  more  equally  over  the  different  portions  of 
our  broad  Union,  instead  of  being  confined,  as  under 
the  old  system,  to  a  few  favored  districts. 

They  facilitate  travel ;  and  thus,  by  the  more  fre- 
quent intercourse  which  takes  place  between  the 
people  of  the  North,  the  South,  the  East,  and  the 
West,  render  our  national  character  more  homogene- 
ous. Above  all,  the  artificial  barriers  of  State  boun- 
daries, and  geographical  obstructions,  are  alike  anni- 
hilated. Sectional  distinctions  and  prejudices  are 
abolished  ;  and  the  nation  is  bound  together  by  that 
strongest  of  all  ties,  without  which  all  others  would 
be  useless,  —  the  tie  of  interest. 

Thus,  individual  love  of  wealth,  and  private  econ- 
omy and  speculation,  prove,  in  the  end,  true  Political 
Economy. 

There  is  one  certain  result  produced  by  the  rail- 
road system,  the  ultimate  effect  of  which  upon  our 
national  character  and  institutions  yet  remains  to  be 
seen.  Large  cities  must  inevitably  grow  up  at  all 
the  great  central  depots.  Under  our  democratic  in- 
stitutions, it  is  a  difficult,  and  oftentimes  an  impos- 
sible thing,  even  now,  to  keep  in  order  the  population 
of  a  large  city.  A  great  metropolis  has  been  com- 
pared to  an  issue,  which,  foul  in  itself,  serves  to  drain 
the  system  of  its  unhealthy  humors,  and  thus  pre- 
serves the  soundness  of  the  whole  body.  Unless 
subordinate  to  law,  it  is,  rather,  a  cancer,  which  pro- 
duces disease  and  death  in  the  whole  body  politic. 


ECONOMY.  11 

Whether  this  is  a  just  comparison  or  not,  one  thing 
is  certain,  —  that  nowhere  else  can  be  found  such 
extremes  of  virtue  and  vice,  wealth  and  poverty, 
splendor  and  wretchedness,  refinement  and  vulgarity. 
It  remains  to  be  proved,  that  the  population  of  over- 
grown cities,  composed  of  such  materials,  can  be 
kept  in  subjection  to  the  law  without  military  force. 

Among  all  the  saving  changes  of  the  present  day, 
none  are  more  remarkable  than  those  which  are  tak- 
ing place  in  the  Economy  of  War.  There  seems  to 
be  a  general  mania  abroad  for  inventing  engines  and 
missiles  for  the  destruction  of  human  life.  No  less 
than  fifteen  or  twenty  kinds  of  explosive  shot  have 
been  invented  within  the  last  three  or  four  years. 
Paixhan  guns  and  steam-frigates  are  destined  to 
make  an  entire  revolution  in  Naval  Economy.  The 
world  has  already  seen  their  power  demonstrated,  in 
the  reduction  of  Acre  and  the  bombardment  of  Can- 
ton. But  it  has  yet  to  see  the  effect  of  these  two  in- 
ventions, when  brought  into  action  in  a  sea-fight  be- 
tween two  large  fleets.  May  such  a  sight  never  be 
seen  ! 

Then  with  regard  to  private  warfare, — how  innu- 
merable are  the  inventions  of  secret  weapons  for  its 
prosecution !  — the  patent  revolving  many-chambered 
rifle  pocket-pistols,  the  bowie-knives,  dirk-knives,  and 
sword-canes. 

This  is  a  singular  sort  of  economy  !  indeed  it  is. 
It  aims  at  effecting  the  greatest  destruction  of  human 
life  with  the  least  possible  expenditure  of  time  and 
money.  In  the  case  of  railroads,  the  loss  of  life  is 


12  ECONOMY. 

incidental  and  unintentional ;  but  here  it  is  the  direct 
aim  arid  end  of  the  inventors. 

The  wearing  of  secret  weapons  is,  doubtless,  pro- 
ductive of  unmixed  evil.  The  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing them  in  his  possession  makes  the  bad  man  still 
more  ruffianly  in  his  conduct,  and  causes  even  the 
more  respectable  man  to  resort  to  their  use  when  in- 
sulted. They  are  ready  instruments  of  vengeance, 
and  Satan  is  always  whispering  in  the  ear  of  the 
wearer,  "  Strike  !  "  Even  peaceably-inclined  men 
sometimes  conceive  themselves  obliged  thus  to  arm 
themselves,  when  travelling  in  some  parts  of  our 
country.  Where  nearly  the  whole  adult  male  popu- 
lation is  thus  armed,  it  is  not  surprising  that  murder- 
ous brawls  should  frequently  occur.  The  actors  are 
seldom  punished.  Jurymen  are  very  lenient  to  such 
offenders.  Each  man  of  them  thinks,  —  "I  may 
soon  be  in  the  same  predicament  as  the  prisoner  "  ; 
and  so,  as  he  hopes  for  mercy  in  such  a  contingen- 
cy, shows  mercy  himself,  by  bringing  in  a  verdict 
of  "Not  guilty."  This  is  his  practice  of  the  golden 
mle;  — "  Do  unto  others  as  ye  would  that  others 
should  do  unto  you."  Under  this  order  of  things, 
(or  rather  cfo'sorder,)  death  by  violence  has  become  so 
common  in  many  portions  of  our  republic,  that  the 
murder  of  a  human  being  is  regarded  in  those  regions 
with  less  horror  than  is  excited  by  the  murder  of  a 
dog  in  Constantinople  ! 

All  this  is  extremely  bad  economy,  both  with  re- 
gard to  human  life  and  to  public  and  private  morals. 
The  march  of  improvement  is  here  retrograde. 


ECONOMY.  13 

As  to  the  improvements  in  national  warfare,  they 
will,  undoubtedly,  have  a  really  beneficial  influence 
on  the  fate  of  the  world.  As,  in  ancient  times,  "  out 
of  the  eater  came  forth  meat,  and  out  of  the  strong 
came  forth  sweetness,"  so  now  (as  always)  does 
Providence  bring  forth  good  out  of  seeming  evil. 
Let  the  art  of  destruction  be  perfected  to  such  a  de- 
gree as  to  insure  the  death  of  nearly  all  the  combat- 
ants, and  the  belligerent  parties  will  fight  wonderful- 
ly shy  of  each  other.  The  fate  of  battles  will  de- 
pend upon  engineers  and  firemen.  The  small  will 
be  equal  to  the  great,  nay,  superior,  for  they  will 
expose  less  surface.  The  weak  will,  by  the  help  of 
machinery,  be  able  to  cope  with  the  powerful.  Per- 
sonal prowess  will  go  for  nothing.  The  glory  of  war 
will  have  passed  away  for  ever.  If  nations  will 
fight,  then  let  us  make  the  means  of  destruction  as 
perfect  as  it  is  possible  to  make  them.  This  is  true 
economy,  as  far  as  it  goes  ;  though,  doubtless,  it 
would  be  better  economy  still  to  "  beat  our  swords 
into  ploughshares,  and  our  spears  into  pruning- 
hooks,"  and  so  abandon  war  altogether.  When  will 
nations  and  individuals  learn  that  it  is  for  their  inter- 
est to  live  peaceably  with  each  other  ?  When  will 
they  learn  to  make  this  great  saving  in  time,  money, 
life,  and  morals  ?  When  will  they  learn  that  it  is 
cheaper,  as  well  as  more  conducive  to  happiness,  and 
therefore  wiser  on  all  accounts,  to  leave  war  to  the 
beasts  ?  They,  for  the  most  part,  make  no  war  upon 
their  own  species. 

When  will  the  happy  day  arrive  when  "nation 
2 


14  ECONOMY. 

shall  no  more  rise  up  against  nation  "  ?  It  will  as- 
suredly come,  though  we  shall  not  live  to  see  it. 
The  march  of  society  is  onward,  and  will  not 
cease  until  this  important  result  is  accomplished. 
Even  in  our  day,  wars  of  conquest  are  becoming  dis- 
reputable among  civilized  nations.  This  is  a  great 
step  in  economy,  and  a  long  stride  toward  universal 
peace. 

This  is  a  saving  age  ;  time-saving,  labor-saving, 
fuel-saving,  and  (in  connection  with  the  latter)  even 
a«V-saving.  Labor-saving  machinery  is  multiplied  to 
an  unprecedented  extent.  Every  thing  is  done  easi- 
ly. A  man  may  travel  from  Maine  to  Louisiana  in 
twelve  days  ;  from  New  York  to  London  in  fifteen  ; 
and  from  New  York  to  Jerusalem  in  thirty  days. 
We  may  see  it  stated  in  the  newspapers,  that  such  a 
man  "  left  this  country,  made  the  tour  of  Europe, 
and  returned  in  sixty  days !  "  What  of  that  ?  What 
is  the  result  ?  How  much  more  does  that  man  know 
than  when  he  set  out  ?  He  steps  on  board  a  steam- 
ship, is  taken  seasick  the  moment  he  gets  outside 
the  harbour,  and,  before  he  recovers  sufficiently  to 
pay  any  attention  to  the  glorious  ocean  through 
which  he  is  ploughing,  he  is  safely  landed  at  Bristol. 
He  inquires  of  the  waiter  at  the  hotel  where  he  puts 
up,  at  what  time  the  cars  leave  for  London,  and  look- 
ing at  his  watch,  finds  that  he  has  just  time  to  swal- 
low his  breakfast  and  be  off.  This  is  lucky  !  he  has 
seen  Bristol;  what  more  does  he  want  with  that 
place  ?  He  has  only  sixty  days  to  spare  from  his 
counting-room,  —  he  must  make  the  most  econom- 


ECONOMY.  15 

ical  use  of  his  time,  and  see  as  many  places  as  possi- 
ble. He  bolts  his  breakfast,  jumps  into  the  cars, 
passes  the  outskirts  of  one  English  town,  dives  un- 
der another,  flies  over  a  third  on  a  bridge  built  from 
mountain  to  mountain,  taking  a  birdseye  view  by 
the  way,  and  at  the  close  of  the  day,  lo  !  he  is  in 
London.  He  retires  to  his  chamber  that  night  with 
great  satisfaction,  calls  for  a  map  of  England,  search- 
es out  the  names  of  all  the  chief  towns  through 
which  he  has  that  day  passed,  and  notes  them  down 
in  his  memorandum-book  as  so  many  places  which 
he  has  visited,  intending  to  consult  the  Traveller's 
Guide  next  day  concerning  the  history  of  said 
towns,  for  materials  out  of  which  to  manufacture  a 
descriptive  letter  to  his  friends  at  home.  What  a 
grand  day's  work  he  has  performed  !  —  crossed  Eng- 
land in  nearly  its  widest  part !  —  seen  the  best  por- 
tion of  the  country  in  one  day  ! 

Next  day  he  posts  to  Dover,  steams  to  Calais,  and 
then  posts  and  steams  over  the  whole  Continent. 
He  visits  all  the  principal  places,  examines  them 
quite  as  thoroughly  as  he  did  London  and  Bris- 
tol, and,  at  the  end  of  thirty  days  from  the  time 
when  he  first  set  foot  upon  English  soil,  he  finds 
himself  again  on  board  a  noble  steamship,  heading 
for  America.  Sixty  days  from  the  time  when  he  left 
New  York  he  is  again  walking  in  Broadway.  His 
friends  shake  hands  with  him,  and  ask  him  where 
he  has  been  for  the  last  two  or  three  weeks.  He 
endeavours  to  look  unconcerned,  but  his  heart  swells 
with  satisfied  ambition,  as  he  answers,  —  "I  was  in 


16 


ECONOMY. 


Vienna  twenty  days  ago."  "Ha!  is  it  possible?" 
returns  a  friend ;  "  you  have  been  absent  so  short 
a  while,  that  I  thought  you  had  only  gone  to  the 
Springs,  or  to  Niagara  Falls !  " 

If  our  hero  has  labored  for  the  reputation  of  being 
a  rapid  traveller,  "  verily  he  has  his  reward."  But  I 
again  ask,  What  is  the  result  of  all  this  ?  How 
much  more  does  that  man  know  than  when  he  set 
out  on  his  travels  ?  Has  the  mind  been  enriched,  or 
the  heart  expanded  ?  No  !  the  humble  pedestrian 
who  has  spent  a  week  among  the  "  highways  and 
by-ways  "  of  his  own  immediate  neighbourhood  has 
done  more  for  the  education  of  both  than  has  been 
accomplished  by  the  European  traveller,  with  all  his 
expense  of  time  and  money. 

The  habit  of  travelling  rapidly  over  the  superficies 
of  things  is  as  common  in  the  literary  as  in  the  nat- 
ural world.  It  is  fostered  by  the  literary  economy 
of  the  present  day.  It  appears  almost  a  necessary 
and  unavoidable  evil.  The  multiplicity  of  books  is 
so  great,  and  the  rate  of  increase  so  rapid,  that  it  is 
impossible  for  the  most  diligent  reader  to  keep  pace 
with  them.  To  do  so,  he  who  reads  must  run  ;  and, 
finding  it  impossible  to  run  fast  enough  on  the  com- 
mon roads,  he  patronizes  the  literary  railroads,  (that 
is,  the  Reviews,)  and  by  their  help  he  is  enabled  to 
run  over  the  whole  world  of  letters  in  an  amazingly 
short  space  of  time.  As  to  the  benefit  received  from 
his  travels,  it  is  about  equal  to  that  received  by  the 
European  tourist  who  travels  over  the  whole  Con- 
tinent by  steam  in  ten  days.  He  knows  the  titles 


ECONOMY.  17 

of  all  the  books  that  are  published,  and  can  tell 
the  names  of  one  half  their  authors  j  and  that  is 
about  all.  The  traveller  on  the  by-ways  of  litera- 
ture, the  retired  villager,  who  peruses  and  reperuses 
a  hundred  times  his  well-thumbed  library  of  fifty  vol- 
umes, receives  infinitely  more  real  benefit  therefrom. 

Book-making  is  now-a-days  a  trade,  which,  being 
a  very  profitable  one,  is  followed  by  a  multitude  who 
have  no  natural  talents  for  the  business.  Thus  the 
manufacture  has  increased  to  an  enormous  extent, 
while  the  products  have  proportionately  decreased  in 
value.  Ideas  are  scarce,  but  books  are  plentiful. 
An  author  commences  with  a  thought,  (sometimes,) 
and,  by  dint  of  hard  work,  he  spreads  it  out  over  the 
surface  of  two  hundred  pages  ;  like  the  gold-beater, 
who  commences  with  an  ounce  of  gold,  and,  by  dint 
of  hammering,  extends  it  to  the  length  of  a  mile. 

The  author  does  the  whole  work,  and  leaves  noth- 
ing for  the  reader  to  do.  He  examines  and  explains 
his  idea  in  all  its  possible  phases ;  and  when  he  is 
done,  there  is  not  a  new  position  in  which  the  reader 
can  view  it,  —  there  is  not  a  new  application  which 
he  can  make  of  it.  Works  of  this  kind  are  the  most 
profitless  of  all.  To  the  mind  they  are  truly  labor- 
saving  machines.  But  as  the  well-being  of  the  body 
is  preserved  by  exercise,  so  also  is  the  health  of  the 
mind  secured  by  action.  Labor  produces  strength  ; 
one  cannot  exist  without  the  other.  The  mind  per- 
ceives and  thinks  only  through  material  organs.  It 
acts  by  them  and  upon  them.  Work,  therefore,  is  as 
necessary  to  the  mind  as  to  the  body  •  and  the  system 
2* 


18  ECONOMY. 

of  labor-saving  book-making  is,  intellectually  and 
morally,  the  worst  economy  in  the  world.  A  more 
lavish  expenditure  of  ideas,  and  a  greater  saving  of 
ink  and  paper,  would  be  a  decided  improvement.  As 
it  is,  the  reader  finds  every  thing  done  to  his  hand  ; 
nothing  is  required  of  him.  The  road  is  too  smooth  ; 
and  in  travelling  over  it,  be  his  mind  never  so  active, 
it  is  almost  infallibly  lulled  to  sleep. 

It  is  a  true  principle,  that  whatever  is  most  easily 
obtained  is  least  valued  ;  and  this  is  true  of  mental 
as  of  physical  acquisitions.  Books  are  so  numerous 
at  the  present  day,  that,  were  they  as  perfect  as 
could  be  desired,  still  they  would  be  esteemed  but 
lightly,  compared  with  the  value  set  upon  them  be- 
fore the  invention  of  types  and  printing-presses. 
How  much  less,  then,  should  they  be  valued,  when 
they  have  not  only  increased  so  immensely  in  quan- 
tity, but  deteriorated  so  greatly  in  quality  ! 

From  these  two  causes,  books  receive,  individual- 
ly, but  little  consideration  in  our  day.  In  the  ag- 
gregate, they  are  much  sought  after,  read  indiscrim- 
inately, and  then  thrown  aside  for  newer  publica- 
tions, which,  in  their  turn,  are  as  lightly  glanced 
over,  and  as  quickly  forgotten.  It  is  but  one  la- 
mentable result  of  the  lethargic  state  of  mind  thus 
induced,  that  a  proper  consideration  is  seldom  be- 
stowed upon  the  books  which  most  deserve  it. 

The  only  really  valuable  books  are  those  which 
are  suggestive  ;  those  in  which  the  reader  is  expect- 
ed to  accompany  the  author  on  his  rugged  road,  and 
keep  up  with  him  by  his  own  labor.  Such  a  writer 


ECONOMY.  19 

receives  but  little  encouragement ;  he  demands  too 
much  exertion  of  his  followers.  That  author  is  pre- 
ferred who  takes  his  indolent  admirers  upon  his  back, 
and  transports  them  from  beginning  to  end  without 
labor  to  themselves.  They  are  accustomed  to  such  a 
conveyance  ;  their  limbs  have  become  enervated  by 
such  indulgence  ;  they  cannot  go  alone.  As  to  the 
benefit  obtained  by  such  a  journey,  it  is  a  question  if 
any  is  really  received. 

I  like  not  a  book  over  which  one  can  travel 
from  beginning  to  end  at  a  railroad  pace.  I  like  a 
book  which  is  continually  opening  new  sources  of 
thought,  and  inviting  me  to  lay  it  down  arid  prose- 
cute the  search  on  my  own  account.  No  one  is  so 
patient  as  an  author.  He  will  stop  when  I  please, 
and  as  long  as  I  please  ;  never  scolds  me  for  tardi- 
ness when  I  come  back,  and  is  always  ready  to  start 
again  when  I  give  the  word.  After  such  an  excur- 
sion, I  return  to  him  with  pleasure,  and  find  my 
strength  renewed  for  the  journey.  Again  and  again 
I  request  my  friend  to  stop,  while  I  make  a  short 
trip  up  this  rugged  ravine,  or  down  that  beautiful 
valley. 

Not  unfrequently  I  step  into  the  balloon-car  of 
metaphysics,  and  sojourn  for  a  while  among  the 
clouds  ;  and  anon  I  descend  deep  into  the  mines  of 
industrial  economy  and  national  wealth.  But  al- 
ways, on  my  return,  I  find  my  friend  quietly  waiting 
for  me.  He  never  chides  me  for  these  absences  ; 
for  he  himself  points  the  way  to  these  minor  jour- 
neys, and  urges  me  to  accomplish  them  by  my  own 


20  ECONOMY. 

unassisted  labor.  I  reap  a  rich  reward,  and,  so  far 
from  being  fatigued  by  my  solitary  rambles,  I  am 
able  the  more  vigorously  to  prosecute  the  remainder 
of  my  journey  on  the  great  route. 

Thus,  when  the  goal  is  finally  attained,  and  I 
look  back  upon  the  ground  passed  over,  I  find  that 
the  main  line  of  travel  is  but  the  connecting  trunk 
of  a  thousand  ramifications.  It  is  as  if  the  episodes 
exceeded  the  chief  poem  itself. 

The  friend  who  accompanied  me  on  that  route  is 
dear  to  my  heart.  He  did  not  carry  me  in  his  arms, 
—  he  did  better,  —  he  taught  me  to  go  alone  ;  he 
taught  me  to  think  for  myself.  I  delight,  again  and 
again,  to  travel  with  him  over  the  same  ground ;  and 
I  continually  find  something  new  to  arrest  my  atten- 
tion and  excite  my  admiration.  Were  the  margin  of 
his  book  wide  enough,  and  could  I  write  thereon  all 
the  thoughts  suggested  by  its  perusal,  ere  I  had  done 
with  it,  the  work  would  be  trebled  in  size,  —  the 
notes  would  far  exceed  the  text  in  quantity.  The 
style  of  that  author  may  be  uncouth,  affected,  even 
clumsy ;  these  are  small  faults.  They  are  but  as 
clouds  to  the  sun.  I  only  the  more  admire  the  bril- 
liant genius  which,  through  all  such  petty  obstruc- 
tions, lights  up  my  mind,  as  the  sun  illumines  the 
earth,  even  on  the  darkest  day. 

Style  is  much,  but  thought  is  more.  Yet,  as  in 
the  social  world  the  dress  is  often  more  thought  of 
than  the  man,  so  in  the  world  of  letters  words  are 
often  more  valued  than  ideas. 

The  elegant   coat  is  frequently  the   passport   to 


ECONOMY.  21 

good  society  ;  the  heart  that  beats  beneath  is  seldom 
examined  into.  The  flatterer  is  a  favorite  ;  while 
the  plain-spoken  man  of  truth  has  fewer  admirers, 
though  perhaps  more  friends. 

Upon  the  same  principle,  a  book  often  sells  well 
because  of  its  elegant  language,  because  it  can  be 
read  easily  and  without  thought,  or  because  the  au- 
thor falls  in  with  the  popular  feelings  of  the  day,  and 
flatters  the  habits  and  prejudices  of  the  majority  of 
his  readers  ;  while  the  writer,  who,  without  regard  to 
expediency,  boldly  utters  his  true  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, without  fear  or  favor,  frequently  receives  but 
little  consideration  from  the  public  in  general.  The 
former  is  caressed  and  rewarded  by  the  many  ;  the 
latter  is  appreciated  only  by  the  few.  Yet  Heaven 
is  just,  and  verily  they  both  "  have  their  reward." 
The  one  receives  it  from  his  own  conscience,  and 
from  the  hearts  of  his  friends  ;  the  other  from  the 
pockets  of  his  admirers. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  in  the  litera- 
ry economy  of  the  present  day  is  the  multitude  of 
magazines  and  mammoth  newspapers  with  which 
the  reading  public  is  overwhelmed.  As  to  the  latter, 
they  have  increased  to  such  an  extent,  that  they  have 
become  a  pestilence  in  the  land.  They  are  so  nu- 
merous, so  large,  and  so  frequently  published,  that 
the  editors  are  sorely  puzzled  to  find  respectable 
matter  to  fill  them.  Sufficient  good  matter,  suffi- 
ciently new,  could  hardly  be  found  in  the  whole 
world,  and  the  cost  of  obtaining  it  would  be  too 
great  to  be  borne  by  such  cheap  publications.  Con- 


22  ECONOMY. 

sequently,  they  are  filled  with  whatever  comes  most 
easily  to  hand,  —  generally  the  poorest  sort  of  trash, 
such  as  love-stories  of  every  imaginable  kind,  sick- 
ly sentimentalities,  and  miserable  doggerel.  Here 
and  there  really  good  articles  are  found  ;  but  we  are 
obliged  to  wade  through  such  seas  of  rubbish  to  get 
at  them,  that  the  labor  and  time  thus  spent  are  alto- 
gether disproportionate  to  the  reward  obtained. 

The  eifect  of  these  publications  is  almost  wholly 
injurious.  Many  who  could  not  think  of  subscrib- 
ing three  dollars  a  year  to  some  really  useful  work, 
or  of  spending  the  same  amount  in  purchasing 
truly  valuable  books,  will,  nearly  every  week,  waste 
six  cents  upon  these  worthless  productions.  They 
do  not  feel  the  loss  of  so  small  a  sum,  and  never  stop 
to  calculate  how  much  they  thus  spend  in  the  course 
of  a  year.  In  this  manner  these  papers  obtain  an 
immense  circulation. 

The  evil  effect  is  twofold.  Many  buy  because 
the  paper  is  cheap,  and  afterward,  astounded  at  the 
magnitude  of  the  undertaking,  never  have  the  cour- 
age to  attempt  the  reading  of  it.  They  have  their 
pockets  picked,  —  but  that  is  a  slight  matter.  It  is 
bad  economy  to  purchase  that  of  which  you  make  no 
use  ;  it  is  worse  economy,  in  this  instance,  to  use  the 
article  than  it  is  to  purchase  it.  He  who  constantly 
reads  one  or  two  of  these  weekly  publications,  and 
who  reads  scarcely  any  thing  else,  is  in  imminent  dan- 
ger of  becoming  iveakly  himself.  He  is  indulging  in 
the  worst  kind  of  literary  dissipation.  The  mind 
must  be  supplied  with  wholesome  food,  or  a  mental 


ECONOMY.  66 

dyspepsia  will  follow.  A  morbid  appetite  is  created 
which  is  insatiable.  It  urges  him  on.  He  reads 
without  relish  and  without  nutrition,  yet  read  he 
must.  Good  books  become  distasteful  to  him.  His 
mind  is  enfeebled.  Like  the  body,  it  must  not  only 
be  supplied  with  proper  food,  but  it  must  labor  for  it. 

Now  these  mammoth  papers  require  no  labor  in 
the  perusal,  except  of  the  arms  in  holding  them,  and 
of  the  eyes  in  scanning  their  immense  surfaces.  If 
any  ideas  are  obtained,  it  is  without  exertion  of 
the  mind.  That  is  overladen  with  a  quantity  of 
trash,  which,  in  its  weak  state,  it  is  wholly  incapable 
of  digesting,  and  which,  if  digested,  would  yield  but 
the  smallest  modicum  of  nourishment. 

The  mammoth  newspaper  is  literally  a  literary 
omnibus  ;  for  such  a  variety  of  useless  litter  was 
never  before  huddled  into  the  same  space. 

If,  then,  they  are  really  of  so  little  value,  why  are 
these  worthless  publications  so  well  patronized  by 
the  public  ?  The  most  obvious  reason  is,  they  are 
so  cheap  that  it  is  deemed  good  economy  to  buy 
them.  On  the  same  principle,  many  persons  buy 
articles  at  auction,  not  because  they  have  any  use 
for  them,  but  because  they  are  knocked  off  so  low. 
In  both  cases  purchasers  "  pay  too  dear  for  their 
whistle." 

Intimately  connected  with  these  mammoth  week- 
lies is  the  daily  penny  press.  Curiosity  was  the 
besetting  sin  of  mother  Eve,  and  her  descendants 
appear  to  be  nowise  lacking  therein.  The  love  of 
news  is  inherent  in  human  nature.  We  read,  that, 


24  ECONOMY. 

when  Paul  was  at  Athens,  "  all  the  Athenians  and 
strangers  which  were  there  spent  their  time  in  noth- 
ing else  but  either  to  tell  or  to  hear  some  new  thing." 
Nearly  two  thousand  years  have  passed  since  then ; 
but  human  nature  has  not  changed.  To  tell  or  to 
hear  some  new  thing  is  quite  as  powerful  a  passion 
among  the  Yankees  of  the  nineteenth  century  as 
with  the  Athenians  in  the  time  of  Paul.  Doubtless, 
God  implanted  it  in  us  for  good  purposes  ;  but  man 
has,  in  all  ages,  striven  hard  to  thwart  the  intentions 
of  Providence. 

In  no  country  or  age  has  this  passion  been  more 
abused  than  in  our  own  country  at  the  present  day. 
It  has  always  been  the  fruitful  cause  of  gossip  and 
slander  in  a  small  way,  in  petty  village  circles,  and 
in  fashionable  city  coteries ;  but  it  required  the  in- 
vention of  printing  and  of  the  steam-engine,  and  the 
liberty  of  the  press,  to  carry  the  system  to  the  high 
pitch  of  perfection  to  which  it  has  attained  in  this 
country.  It  really  does  seem  as  if  the  art  of  gossip 
could  be  no  more  improved.  But  no  one  can  look 
into  futurity ;  no  one  can  say  what  effect  will  be 
produced,  when  the  principles  of  electricity,  electro- 
magnetism,  and  animal  magnetism  are  once  brought 
into  subjection,  and  rendered  willing  slaves  to  this 
all-absorbing  passion.  By  means  of  the  latter,  we 
may  sit  by  our  firesides  and  learn  at  any  one  time 
what  may  be  then  happening  at  any  spot  on  the 
earth's  surface,  or  even  in  its  most  hidden  recesses. 
By  the  two  former  principles,  when  used  in  telegraph- 
ing, we  may  literally  "  put  a  girdle  round  about  the 


ECONOMY.  25 

earth  in  forty  minutes."  So  let  us  not  boast  too 
loudly  of  the  facilities  which  we  at  present  enjoy  for 
gossiping  on  a  large  scale.  We  shall  he  entirely  out- 
done by  our  great-grandchildren.  Let  us  be  mod- 
est, or  there  will  be  such  a  laugh  raised  at  our  ex- 
pense, by  our  news-loving  descendants,  as  will  go 
nigh  to  wake  us  from  our  graves. 

But  let  us  fold  the  wings  of  imagination  and  come 
down  to  sober  reality.  The  penny  papers  of  the 
present  day,  —  What  are  their  objects  ?  What  efforts 
are  made  to  attain  those  objects  ?  What  is  the  foun- 
dation of  their  success  ?  As  a  whole,  are  they  good 
or  evil  in  their  effects  ?  And,  finally,  ought  they  to 
be  encouraged  ? 

As  to  the  objects  aimed  at  by  the  proprietors  of 
these  papers,  there  can  be  no  mistake  on  that  point. 
They  are,  first,  to  make  money  ;  secondly,  to  make 
more  money ;  and,  thirdly,  to  make  most  money ;  and 
so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  There  is  no  other 
motive. 

And  every  thing  is  sacrificed  in  order  to  attain  this 
end.  Misery  and  crime  are  the  daily  food  served 
out  to  the  readers  of  the  penny  paper.  Horrid  mur- 
ders are  greedily  seized  upon,  and  crimes  which  should 
never  be  mentioned  out  of  the  court-house  or  the 
prison  are  given  forth,  with  all  their  disgusting  de- 
tails, to  be  read  by  hundreds  and  thousands  of  in- 
nocent children,  who  have  never  before  dreamed  that 
it  could  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  commit  such 
deeds.  Police  reports  are  daily  made,  in  which  ig- 
norance and  helplessness  are  ridiculed,  and  vice  and 
3 


26  ECONOMY. 

wretchedness  are  shown  up  as  things  to  be  laughed  at. 
Trials  of  persons  charged  with  the  most  revolting 
crimes  are  seized  upon  with  avidity,  and  served  up 
in  the  most  piquant  manner  to  the  lovers  of  the  hor- 
rible. The  sanctity  of  private  life  is  invaded,  and  in- 
nocent individuals,  who  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  be 
connected  with  the  criminal  by  ties  of  blood  or  mar- 
riage, are  dragged  before  the  public,  and  made  to  un- 
dergo a  double  torture. 

These  papers  are  sold  by  newsmen  who  must  have 
some  astounding  piece  of  intelligence  to  announce 
each  day.  The  sale  of  the  papers  depends  upon 
this  ;  and  so  a  "  horrible  murder,"  or  a  "  dreadful 
case  of  depravity,"  is  daily  furnished  or  manufac- 
tured to  answer  this  purpose.  Some  piece  of  news 
must,  at  all  events,  be  blazoned  forth  every  day. 
One  day,  it  is  "  News  from  the  Steamer  President," 
which  turns  out  to  be  an  announcement  that  "  no 
further  intelligence  has  been  received  from  this  ill- 
fated  vessel."  Another  day,  it  is  the  "  Trial  of  Mc- 
Leod,"  which,  upon  examination,  proves  to  be  a 
"  Postponement  of  the  trial  until  next  week."  The 
day  after,  we  are  startled  with  the  announcement, 
that  "  Mr.  Smith  has  suddenly  disappeared,  and  it 
is  supposed  he  has  been  murdered,  as  he  had  a  large 
sum  of  money  about  him  at  the  time."  In  the  af- 
ternoon, an  extra  is  issued,  to  inform  the  anxious 
public  that  "  Mr.  Smith  has  been  discovered,  safe 
and  sound,  having  ridden  out  to  his  farm  without  in- 
forming his  family,  and  having  been  detained  there 
all  night  by  a  storm." 


ECONOMY.  27 

The  paper  is  filled  with  such  trash  as  this.  If  any 
good  things  are  admitted,  they  are  in  extremely  small 
quantities.  If  any  really  worthy  subject  is  intro- 
duced, it  is  not  with  the  intention  of  advancing  the 
cause  of  truth  ;  it  is  presented  in  that  view  which 
will  be  most  likely  to  attract  attention,  and  conduce 
to  a  large  sale  of  that  day's  paper.  It  is  treat- 
ed of  in  a  single  article,  in  a  single  paper.  It  must 
not  be  dwelt  upon  ;  it  would  be  old  matter  the  next 
day.  Is  there  any  subject  of  great  public  interest 
upon  which  you  wish  to  be  informed  ?  You  will 
there  find  but  a  hint  of  it,  —  just  enough  to  make  a 
news  paragraph  ;  the  paper  is  too  small  to  contain 
more.  You  must  resort  to  some  larger  and  better- 
conducted  journal  for  the  information  which  you  re- 
quire. You  need  not  wait  till  to-morrow  in  the 
hope  that  your  penny  paper  will  furnish  it.  The 
penny  paper  never  looks  back. 

It  looks  forward,  though ;  it  is  fond  of  predictions. 
It  delights,  for  instance,  in  anticipations  of  war ;  per- 
ad venture  it  would  delight  in  war  itself.  Such  a 
lamentable  event  would  furnish  paragraphs  without 
number.  Bloody  victories  and  disastrous  defeats 
would  glare  from  every  page  in  large  capitals.  War 
would  prove  a  mine  of  wealth  to  the  penny  papers. 
Whe'n  the  political  horizon  is  unclouded,  when  the 
more  respectable  and  considerate  journals  speak  of 
nothing  but  peace,  if  you  would  believe  the  penny 
press,  the  sky  is  black  with  the  impending  storm, 
and  they  stigmatize  their  quiet  editorial  brethren  as 
false  prophets,  "  crying,  Peace,  peace,  when  there  is 


28  ECONOMY. 

no  peace."  People,  and  above  all  people,  editors,  are 
accustomed  to  prophesy  loudly  that  which  they  wish 
to  come  to  pass. 

If  the  penny  papers  are  all  that  I  have  declared 
them  to  be,  why  are  they  so  largely  patronized? 
What  is  the  foundation  of  their  success  ? 

The  answer  is  plain.  The  penny  paper  is  cheap,  — 
curiosity  is  strong,  and  here  is  an  opportunity  to  grat- 
ify it  economically.  Then  there  is  the  love  of  the 
awful  and  the  horrible,  a  feeling  common  to  nearly 
all  of  us,  and  which  it  is  the  business  of  the  penny 
paper  to  pamper  and  gratify.  The  same  passion 
which  delights  in  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  or 
"  The  Monk,"  delights  also  in  the  stories  of  blood 
and  murder  which  daily  appear  in  the  columns  of 
the  penny  paper.  The  public  taste  is  depraved  and 
sickly.  Does  the  penny  paper  attempt  to  rectify  it  ? 
O,  no !  that  would  endanger  the  craft.  The  low,  the 
fearful,  the  terrible,  must  be  served  up  each  day. 
The  mind  of  the  reader  craves  this  stimulus  as  the 
drunkard  craves  his  drink.  A  moral  intoxication  en- 
sues, and  it  is  the  business  of  the  penny  paper  to  see 
that  the  appetite  abates  not.  It  is  fostered  by  every 
possible  means,  until  habit  has  done  its  work,  and 
the  victim  has  neither  the  will  nor  the  power  to  break 
through  the  meshes  in  which  he  has  become  entan- 
gled. I  have  read  of  a  lady  (whose  daily  spiritual  food 
was  gathered  from  penny  papers)  who  deemed  herself 
sick,  and  sent  for  a  doctor,  because,  for  the  week  pre- 
vious, she  "  had  not  relished  her  murders."  Poor 
lady  !  she  was  unconsciously,  and  in  spite  of  herself, 


ECONOMY.  29 

approaching  a  state  of  mental  and  moral  health.  If 
this  were  sickness,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  she  never 
recovered.  Would  that  there  were  many  more  like 
her  !  Would  that  we  all  might  lose  our  "  relish  for 
murders  "  !  The  penny  paper  would  then  reform  or 
die.  Not  long  since,  a  well-meaning  friend,  who  is 
somewhat  infected  with  this  mania  for  the  horrible, 
actually  sent  me  a  paper  with  the  recommendation 
that  it  contained  "  a  grand  lot  of  murders" 

At  times,  certain  crimes  seem  to  become,  as  it 
were,  epidemic  diseases  in  the  land.  Who  does  not 
remember  the  startling  rapidity  with  which  the  ac- 
counts of  fearful  and  horrible  murders  rushed  in  upon 
us  during  the  autumn  and  winter  of  1840  ?  Those 
were  glorious  times  for  the  penny  papers.  They 
made  money;  and  —  by  their  disgustingly  minute 
reports  of  horrible  scenes  —  /  solemnly  believe  they 
made  murderers.  There  is  a  sympathy  in  crime, 
as  in  every  other  manifestation  of  powerful  action,  in 
the  human  mind  and  heart.  And  thus  it  is  that 
criminals  increase  in  proportion  to  the  publicity  given 
to  crime. 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  such  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen  ; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace." 

The  faults  of  the  penny  paper  have  been  dwelt 

upon.     Their  virtues  should  likewise  be  pointed  out  ; 

but,  after  the  most  diligent  search,  none  have  been 

discovered ;  unless,  indeed,  it  be  deemed  one,  that 

3* 


30  ECONOMY. 

they  afford  a  very  cheap  vehicle  by  which  quackery 
of  all  sorts  may  ride  into  public  favor. 

I  arrive,  then,  at  the  conclusion,  that  penny  pa- 
pers, as  at  present  conducted,  are  an  almost  unmit- 
igated evil.  And  with  them,  in  the  same  category,  I 
would  place  all  papers,  whether  penny  or  two-penny, 
which  are  chiefly  hawked  about  by  newsmen,  in- 
stead of  being  regularly  subscribed  for.  There  may 
be  those  which  deserve  to  be  excepted  from  this 
sweeping  censure.  If  any  such  exist,  they  are  of 
course  excepted.  I  can  see  no  reason  why  all  may 
not  be  so  conducted  as  to  be  wholly  unexception- 
able. 

A  cent  apiece  daily  from  sixteen  thousand  men 
amounts  to  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  course  of  a 
year,  three  fourths  of  which  are  returned  to  the 
contributors  in  the  shape  of  deadly  poison,  and  the 
other  fourth  remains  in  the  pockets  of  those  patriotic 
and  disinterested  individuals,  the  editors  and  pub- 
lishers. This  is  miserable  economy  in  those  who 
patronize  these  public  nuisances,  which  pick  the 
pockets  of  purchasers,  and  demoralize  the  hearts  of 
readers. 

"  What,  then !  "  it  may  be  asked ;  "  would  you 
abolish  newspapers  ?  We  receive  the  earliest  and 
cheapest  news  by  these  publications  which  you  so 
much  condemn.  We  know  that  their  moral  tone  is 
not  very  good  ;  we  know  that  they  contain  much 
exceptionable  matter ;  but  the  neivs,  the  news,  how 
shall  we  obtain  that  so  readily  and  cheaply?  " 

To  all  which  I  would  reply  by  asking,  Is  it  abso- 


ECONOMY.  31 

lutely  necessary  to  your  comfort,  welfare,  and  happi- 
ness, that  your  families  should  be  informed  of  every 
bloody  fight,  rape,  robbery,  or  murder,  in  the  shortest 
possible  space  of  time  after  the  crime  is  committed  ? 
Is  it  necessary  that  they  should  be  informed  at  all  of 
these  events  ?  You  shudder  at  the  barbarity  of  the 
Spaniards,  who  teach  their  children  to  delight  in 
bloody  bull-fights  ;  why  should  you  not  shrink  from 
instilling  into  your  sons  and  daughters  a  love  for  the 
recital  of  sanguinary  tragedies  of  a  far  deeper  die? 
They  will  become  quite  sufficiently  enlightened  up- 
on the  subject  of  crimes,  by  knowing  those  which 
are  perpetrated  in  your  own  immediate  neighbour- 
hood, —  do  not  rake  the  whole  earth  for  a  larger  sup- 
ply of  poisons  with  which  to  pollute  their  young 
minds  and  hearts. 

As  to  the  commercial  news,  to  obtain  which  you 
might  be  excused  in  making  some  haste,  it  is  well 
known  that  no  merchant  relies  on  the  penny  paper 
for  information.  Besides  which,  every  man  who 
pleases  has  access  to  some  reading-room,  where  he 
can  always  find  credible  and  respectable  journals  to 
consult. 

The  penny  paper  is,  therefore,  wholly  useless  to 
the  merchant,  and  worse  than  utterly  worthless  to 
the  general  reader. 

How  would  Sir  William  Berkeley  hold  up  his 
hands  in  astonishment  and  horror,  could  he  step 
from  his  grave  and  witness  the  crying  abuses  of  the 
press  of  the  present  day  !  When  governor  of  Vir- 
ginia, in  1671,  he  wrote  thus  to  the  Lords  Commis- 


02  ECONOMY. 

sioners :  —  "I  thank  God  there  are  no  free  schools  nor 
PRINTING,  and  I  hope  we  shall  not  have  them  these 
hundred  years ;  for  learning  has  brought  disobedience 
and  heresy  and  sects  into  the  world,  and  printing  has 
divulged  them,  and  libels  against  the  best  govern- 
ment. God  keep  us  from  both  !  " 

Hon.  Henry  A.  Wise,  about  two  years  since,  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  publicly  thanked  God 
that  not  a  single  newspaper  was  printed  within  his 
district.  He  must  have  had  in  view  such  papers  as 
I  have  been  censuring ;  otherwise  it  is  inconceivable 
that  he  could  have  made  such  a  speech. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  abolishing  newspapers ; 
only  improve  them.  "  And  how,"  it  may  be  asked, 
"is  this  to  be  done?"  Simply  thus:  —  Patronize 
only  those  papers  which  are  honest  and  thorough, 
and  which  could  not  soil  the  mind  of  the  purest  maid- 
en who  might  peruse  them.  Papers  can  be  found 
which  have  attained  or  nearly  approached  this  stand- 
ard. Encourage  them,  and  them  only.  Many  such 
have  ceased  to  exist,  or  have  fallen  into  bad  hands, 
merely  because  of  the  want  of  support.  Subscribe 
only  to  those  papers  which  "  noble  ends  by  noble 
means  pursue." 

Literary  travelling  and  book-making,  mammoth 
weeklies  and  penny  dailies,  have  been  viewed  in 
turn.  All  these  exert  a  controlling  influence  on  our 
advancement  in  art,  science,  wealth,  and  happiness. 
They  are  a  part  of  the  education  of  the  people. 
And,  as  a  whole,  it  must  be  admitted  that  their  ad- 
vantages immeasurably  exceed  their  disadvantages. 


ECONOMY.  33 

Still,  as  a  people,  we  are  far  from  perfect.  That  our 
political  economy  needs  amending  is  evident  from 
the  fact,  that,  in  a  time  of  peace,  our  national  and 
state  governments  are  deeply  in  debt,  and  some  of  the 
latter  almost  irretrievably  so.  That  our  social  and 
personal  economy  is  not  all  that  it  should  be  is  made 
plain  by  the  near  approach  to  a  general  bankruptcy 
in  purse  and  morals  which  prevails  over  the  greater 
portion  of  the  Union.  A  French  lady  writes  thus 
to  her  friend  in  Paris :  —  "  There  have  been  so  many 
failures  and  frauds,  explosions  of  fortune  and  charac- 
ter, vicissitudes  of  condition,  abscondings,  elope- 
ments, family  misfortunes  and  feuds,  that  I  shall 
scarcely  venture  to  inquire  about  any  one  when  I  go 
back."  Could  not  an  American,  who  had  been  ab- 
sent seven  years,  write  thus,  with  truth,  to  his 
friends  in  the  United  States? 

We  are  too  fond  of  novelty.  True,  we  have  ad- 
vanced rapidly  ;  we  have  made  many  improvements  ; 
but  we  are  such  an  ambitious,  scheming,  go-ahead 
people,  that  we  never  stop  to  complete  one  under- 
taking before  we  commence  another.  We  have  "  too 
many  irons  in  the  fire  at  once."  Our  nation  may 
be  personified  as  a  gigantic  "  Jack-at-all-trades,"  who 
is  "  good  at  none."  Would  it  not  be  better  for 
us  to  pause  awhile,  and  complete  and  perfect  the  un- 
dertakings upon  which  we  are  now  engaged,  before 
attempting  the  execution  of  any  new  schemes  ?  We 
are  the  most  productive  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  ;  but  we  are  far  from  being  truly  economical. 

But,  with  all  our  improvements,  although  we  ran- 


34  ECONOMY. 

sack  land  and  sea  for  opportunities  to  exercise  our  in- 
ventive talents  and  our  penny  economy,  there  yet  re- 
mains, among  many  others,  one  subject  which  is  too 
much  neglected, — a  subject  in  which  the  truly 
economical  may  find  a  large  scope  for  the  exercise  of 
their  saving  and  managing  propensities,  and  upon 
which  depend  not  only  our  wealth,  prosperity,  and 
happiness,  but  our  very  existence  as  a  nation.  I  re- 
fer to  our  common  schools,  to  the  education  of  the 
whole  people. 

Among  the  many  means  employed  for  national  ad- 
vancement, this  is  by  far  the  most  effective.  In  the 
whole  range  of  important  subjects,  this  is,  to  us,  the 
most  important.  A  democratic  people  cannot  afford 
to  be  an  ignorant  people.  A  liberal  government  and 
a  liberal  education  of  the  many  must  go  hand  in 
hand.  The  former  cannot  long  exist  without  the 
latter  ;  the  latter  will  not  long  exist  without  the 
former. 

It  has  been  said,  "  The  price  of  liberty  is  eternal 
vigilance."  Yery  true  ;  but  the  vigilance  of  the  igno- 
rant will  never  suffice  for  the  preservation  of  liberty. 
Let  us  say,  rather,  the  price  of  liberty  is  the  school- 
master's  salary.  Education  must  come  first  ;  vigi- 
lance will  then  follow  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  to 
some  purpose. 

We  have  already  done  much  ;  our  common  schools 
are  the  glory  of  the  republic,  especially  so  of  New 
England,  and  still  more  so  of  some  particular  States 
of  New  England  ;  but  they  are  still  far  behind  the 
wants  of  the  people.  Under  our  system  of  govern- 


ECONOMY.  35 

merit,  when  a  man  becomes  a  citizen,  he  is  endowed, 
for  himself  and  his  children,  for  ever,  with  the  right 
of  suffrage,  —  with  the  right,  virtually,  of  taking  part 
in  the  government  of  the  country.  In  order  to  fill 
this  high  office  properly,  and  with  safety  to  the  com- 
monwealth, he  should  be  educated,  well  educated,  not 
only  in  the  common  branches  of  reading,  writing, 
and  arithmetic,  but  in  morals,  and  in  the  general 
principles  of  common  and  constitutional  law.  Re- 
ligious education  also  should  be  attended  to,  and  for 
this  end  Sunday  Schools  should  be  encouraged. 

The  right  of  suffrage  is  possessed  by  the  whole 
people  ;  they  can  never  be  deprived  of  it ;  —  we 
ought  to  thank  God  that  they  cannot ;  it  is  not  de- 
sirable that  they  should  be.  For  this  fact,  when 
rightly  viewed,  in  all  its  possible  and  probable  con- 
sequences, by  the  property-holding  portion  of  socie- 
ty, will  lead  them  to  see  the  absolute  necessity  that 
exists  for  the  education  of  the  whole  community  ; 
and  thus  will  knowledge  and  the  fruits  of  knowl- 
edge be  secured  to  all. 

Not  a  single  person  who  has  the  capacity  to  learn 
should  be  allowed  to  grow  up  in  ignorance.  No 
parent  should  be  permitted  to  bring  up  his  children 
thus.  He  has  no  moral  right,  and  he  should  have 
no  legal  right,  to  do  so.  We  should  go  out  into  the 
"highways  and  hedges"  of  society,  and  "compel  " 
all  to  come  in  and  partake  of  the  feast  prepared  for 
them  by  the  bounty  of  the  public. 

When  men  enter  into  the  social  compact,  they 
surrender  some  of  their  natural  rights,  in  order  to 


36  ECONOMY. 

secure  to  themselves  the  enjoyment  of  others  of  far 
greater  value,  such  as  the  protection  of  life  and  prop- 
erty, and  the  exercise  of  just  so  much  liberty  as  is 
consistent  with  the  happiness  of  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity. Now  it  is  not  consistent  with  the  happi- 
ness and  welfare  of  the  community,  that  men  should 
be  allowed  to  deprive  their  children  of  the  blessings 
of  a  good  education ;  and  they  should  be  obliged  by 
law  to  surrender  their  right  to  commit  such  a  crime. 
There  is  no  other  safe  course  to  be  pursued  in  a  free, 
democratic  republic. 

We  should  have  a  sufficient  number  of  primary 
and  secondary  schools  to  accommodate  every  child 
in  the  country,  and  every  child  should  be  obliged  to 
attend  school  when  circumstances  permit.  High 
schools  ought  to  be  established,  sufficiently  numer- 
ous to  educate  all  who  might  wish  to  attend  them ; 
and  they  should  equal,  if  not  excel,  the  best  private 
schools.  All  this  should  be  done  at  the  public  ex- 
pense. This  course  is  imperiously  demanded  by  an 
enlightened  self-interest,  by  a  well-directed  love  of 
national  glory,  by  the  necessity  of  the  case,  by  true 
economy. 

An  ignorant  nation  is  not  fit  to  be  free,  does  not 
deserve  to  be  free,  and,  moreover,  never  can  be 
free.  A  glance  at  the  history  and  present  condition 
of  the  Spanish  American  states  will  establish  the 
truth  of  this  assertion  beyond  a  doubt.  All  the 
revolutions  and  counter-revolutions  in  which  those 
unhappy  countries  abound  will  effect  nothing  tow- 
ards their  political  freedom,  unless  the  rising  gen- 


ECONOMY.  37 

eration  be  better  educated  than  the  present.  What 
they  need  is  not  so  much  political  emancipation,  as 
emancipation  from  the  thraldom  of  ignorance.  And 
until  this  shall  have  taken  place,  peace,  happiness, 
and  prosperity  will  never  dwell  in  those  ill-fated 
lands.  They  will  be  governed  by  a  succession  of 
tyrants.  No  matter  how  democratic  a  revolution 
may  be  in  its  origin,  the  ignorance  of  the  mass  of 
the  victors  will  compel  them  to  invest  their  chief 
with  dictatorial  powers,  which  he  will  soon  use  for 
the  oppression  of  the  people.  He  will  govern  until 
his  tyranny  can  be  borne  no  longer,  when  he  will  be 
overthrown  by  another  revolution,  the  leader  of 
which  will  in  his  turn  become  a  tyrant ;  and  so  on 
for  ever,  unless  the  education  of  the  people  is  pro- 
vided for,  or  unless  some  chief,  more  powerful  and 
more  popular  than  his  predecessors,  should  establish 
an  hereditary  monarchy,  with  a  titled  nobility  and  a 
standing  army  which  would  rally  around  the  throne, 
and  thus  preserve  order  by  force. 

Let  us  take  warning  from  the  distracted  state  of 
our  sister  republics  on  the  continent  of  America. 
Let  us  educate  the  whole  people.  Let  us  do  this, 
in  justice  to  the  memory  of  our  glorious  ancestors, 
in  justice  to  ourselves,  in  justice  to  posterity,  that 
perpetual  heir  to  the  consequences  of  our  virtues  and 
our  vices,  which  is  destined  to  cover  the  broad  con- 
tinent, from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  and  to  count 
its  hundreds  of  millions. 
4 


THE    WAY.* 


"  And  an  highway  shall  be  there,  and  a  way,  and  it  shall  be  called, 
The  way  of  holiness ;  the  unclean  shall  not  pass  over  it  j  but  it 
shall  be  for  those  :  the  wayfaring  men,  though  fools,  shall  not  err 
therein."  —  ISAIAH  xxxv.  8. 

IT  is  supposed,  that,  when  he  uttered  these  words, 
the  inspired  man  spoke  prophetically  of  the  Gospel 
of  Christ  and  of  his  glorious  kingdom. 

What  is  this  highway,  which  shall  be  called  the 
way  of  holiness  ?  Who  are  the  chosen  guides  to 
conduct  the  lost  sheep  to  this  glorious  path,  which 
leadeth  unto  the  pleasant  meadows  and  the  living 
waters  of  heaven  ?  Are  they  Catholic,  or  Protes- 
tant ;  Calvinist,  or  Lutheran  ;  Unitarian,  or  Trinita- 
rian ?  Has  sect  any  thing  to  do  with  it  ?  Has 
any  one  denomination  taken  out  a  patent  right  to 
carry  passengers  over  this  road,  and  to  exclude  from 
the  benefits  thereof  all  who  will  not  travel  in  its 
vehicles  ?  Was  heaven  closed  to  the  Gentiles  before 
the  Christian  dispensation  ?  Is  it  even  now  eternally 
sealed  to  the  countless  millions  who  have  never  heard 
the  name  of  Jesus  ? 

*  A  Lecture  read  before  the  South  Parish  Society  for  Mutual  Im- 
provement, in  1842. 


THE    WAY.  39 

God  made  man:  God  is  good:  therefore,  God 
made  man  to  be  happy.  God  is  all- wise :  God  is  all- 
powerful  :  he  fails  not  in  adapting  means  to  ends : 
therefore,  man  will  be,  must  be,  happy.  Not  one 
man  ;  not  one  class  of  men  ;  not  one  sect  of  Chris- 
tians ;  not  even  all  Christendom,  exclusively  ;  but 
all  heathendom  also,  and  all  mankind.  For  all  has 
God  provided  a  broad  highway  to  heaven.  And  so 
plain  is  it,  so  easily  found,  that  even  the  wayfaring 
man,  though  a  fool,  though  a  pagan,  though  a  Ma- 
hometan, shall  not  err  therein. 

What  is  this  highway,  this  way  of  holiness,  which 
is  so  plain  to  all  ? 

God  has  never  left  himself  without  a  witness  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  from  the  creation  of  the  world 
even  unto  the  present  day.  He  has  implanted  in  us 
the  two  great  sentiments  of  veneration  and  benevo- 
lence, upon  which  is  founded  all  true  religion,  —  re- 
gard and  love  for  the  Good,  the  Beautiful,  the  Sub- 
lime, —  in  fine,  the  perception  and  adoration  of  a  Dei- 
ty ;  and  love,  pity,  and  charity  for  our  fellow-be- 
ings. Thus  said  our  Saviour  :  —  "  Thou  shalt  love 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all 
thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind ;  this  is  the  first  and 
great  commandment ;  and  the  second  is  like  unto  it, 
Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself."  He  but 
uttered  that  which  already  existed  in  the  hearts  of 
all,  —  dimly  comprehended,  perhaps,  but  still  there. 
These  two  commandments  are  stamped  indelibly 
upon  the  spiritual  constitution  of  every  man. 
Though  obscured  by  the  clouds  of  ignorance, 


40  THE    WAY. 

though  darkened  by  the  mists  of  superstition  and 
priestcraft,  they  are  more  or  less  intelligible  to  all, 
and  more  or  less  obeyed  by  all.  Less  obeyed,  how- 
ever, than  intelligible.  So  deeply  graven  are  they  in 
human  nature,  that  there  is  not  to  be  found  on  record 
a  well-authenticated  instance  of  a  nation  which  has 
not  recognized  them,  however  faintly  ;  and  it  may 
well  be  doubted  if  there  ever  existed  a  single  indi- 
vidual from  the  tablets  of  whose  heart  they  have 
been  utterly  obliterated. 

This,  then,  is  the  great  highway,  —  love  to  God,  and 
love  to  man.  We  are  told  that  the  second  is  like  unto 
the  first.  Where  the  first  is  obscured,  where  God  is 
shown  to  the  benighted  heathen  painted  by  their 
priests  in  such  hideous  colors  that  only  fear  and  dis- 
gust are  excited,  instead  of  love,  then  is  the  second 
all-sufficient  for  their  salvation.  Love,  kindness, 
meekness,  charity  to  their  fellow-men,  will  never  fail 
to  conduct  their  possessors  to  happiness  and  heaven, 
whether  they  be  disciples  of  Confucius,  of  Mahomet, 
or  of  Christ.  He  who  can  truly  say  to  the  "  angel  " 
with  "the  book  of  gold,"  —  "Write  me  as  one  who 
loves  his  fellow-men,"  —  fulfils  both  commandments, 
whether  he  be  nominally  a  worshipper  of  Jove  or 
Jehovah.  Be  his  ideas  of  the  eternal,  all -pervading 
Spirit  of  the  Universe  howsoever  crude,  erroneous, 
and  dim,  —  if  he  do  but  recognize  and  reverence  the 
true,  the  pure,  the  noble,  the  lofty,  in  man,  he  is  a 
true  worshipper  of  God,  —  he  sees  God  in  man  •  and 
therein  he  errs  not,  for  "  God  made  man  in  his  own 
image " ;  and  though  sin  and  suffering  have  done 


THE    WAY.  41 

their  utmost,  they  have  never  been  able  wholly  to 
destroy  the  likeness.  What  God  hath  joined  togeth- 
er (the  animal  and  the  godlike),  all  the  powers  of 
darkness  have  not  been  able  to  sunder. 

No  system  of  idolatry  has  ever  existed  on  earth 
which  has  not  been  animated  by  some  portion  (how- 
ever small)  of  the  spirit  of  true  religion.  Whether 
this  originated  in  the  innate  moral  constitution  of 
man,  or  from  dim  recollections  of  a  former  revelation 
which  God  had  made  to  the  fathers  of  the  human 
race,  is  a  question  not  easily  to  be  determined  ;  and, 
indeed,  is  not  important.  For,  if  the  latter  supposi- 
tion be  true,  then  the  hearts  of  the  children  must 
have  been  fitted  to  receive  and  perpetuate  the  truths 
communicated  to  the  fathers.  The  voice  of  God 
which  spoke  to  our  first  parents  in  the  garden  must 
have  found  in  the  hearts  of  their  descendants  a  re- 
sponsive echo,  which  has  not  died  away  even  yet.  It 
is  the  voice  of  God  within,  and,  though  still  and 
small,  it  yet  speaks  to  the  deafest  ear  among  the 
most  degraded  heathen,  directing  to  the  broad  high- 
way to  heaven,  which  is  ever  open  unto  all. 

But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  religion  springs  sponta- 
neous in  the  human  heart,  then  therein  also  must  we 
recognize  the  hand  of  God  stretched  out  for  the  sal- 
vation of  even  the  meanest  of  the  human  family. 
In  either  case,  it  is  certain  that  God  has  neither  left 
men  to  consummate  their  own  destruction,  nor  pre- 
determined them  to  perdition. 

Thus  in  no  age,  in  no  clime,  under  no  form  of  re- 
ligion, has  man  been  left  to  grope  his  way  in  utter 


42  THE    WAY. 

darkness.  In  the  heart  of  every  one  has  God  kept 
alive  a  light  to  illumine  the  path ;  and  the  high- 
way to  heaven  has  always  been  open.  "  Faith  and 
works"  have  heen  demanded,  not  only  of  the  Chris- 
tian, but  of  the  heathen ;  and  all  have  been  meas- 
urably able  to  render  them ;  —  faith  in  the  higher 
part  of  man's  nature,  and  benevolence,  pity,  and 
charity  for  his  faults,  his  sufferings,  and  his  crimes. 
"  For  not  the  hearers  of  the  law  are  just  before 
God,  but  the  doers  of  the  law  shall  be  justified. 
For  when  the  Gentiles,  which  have  not  the  law,  do 
by  nature  the  things  contained  in  the  law,  these, 
having  not  the  law,  are  a  law  unto  themselves: 
which  show  the  work  of  the  law  written  in  their 
hearts,  their  conscience  also  'bearing  witness,  and 
their  thoughts  the  mean  while  accusing  or  else  ex- 
cusing one  another."* 

But  here  many  questions  arise  which  it  is  difficult, 
nay,  almost  impossible,  to  answer.  If  God  had  pre- 
viously provided  ways  and  means  for  the  salvation 
of  mankind,  whence  the  necessity  for  the  missions  of 
Moses  and  the  prophets,  or  for  the  still  higher  and 
holier  mission  of  Jesus?  Or,  if  the  necessity  of 
these  be  admitted,  why  were  not  the  truths  thus 
communicated  to  man  spread  over  the  whole  earth, 
and  made  plain  to  every  inhabitant  thereof?  Why 
was  their  advent  so  long  delayed,  and  when  at  last 
they  appeared  in  all  their  glory,  why  were  they  con- 
fined to  a  single  nation,  as  in  the  case  of  the  He- 
brew dispensation;  and  to  but  a  small  number  of 

*  Romans  ii.  13-15. 


THE    WAY.  43 

nations,  as  is  the  case  with  the  Christian  dispensa- 
tion after  a  lapse  of  eighteen  hundred  years  ?  If  a 
knowledge  of  the  miraculously  revealed  word  of  God 
be  absolutely  essential  and  necessary  to  salvation, 
why  should  it  be  confined  to  so  few,  and  why  should 
the  millions  who  now  live,  and  the  millions  who 
have  died,  in  ignorance,  be  condemned  for  that 
ignorance  which  has  not  been  of  their  own  seeking 
or  making  ?  No,  no ;  God  has  inscribed  on  the 
hearts  of  all  the  rudiments  of  the  law  which  Moses 
and  Christ  wrote  out  in  full. 

We  are  bound  to  believe  that  our  good  God  has 
ordered  all  things  rightly.  But  although  we  con- 
tend that  the  salvation  of  the  heathen  is  provided  for, 
yet  let  us  not  on  that  account  be  led  to  undervalue 
the  blessings  of  the  Gospel.  We  cannot  be  too  thank- 
ful that  we  have  been  chosen  as  the  depositaries  of 
its  precious  truths ;  and  we  cannot  be  too  solicitous 
to  use  aright,  or  too  fearful  of  misusing,  the  treasure 
intrusted  to  us. 

Jesus  said,  "  I  am  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and 
the  life  ;  no  man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by 
me."  That  is,  "  I  am  come  to  show  you  the  way 
to  truth  and  life,  and  no  man  cometh  unto  the 
Father  but  by  this  way."  What  this  way  is  he  has 
elsewhere  declared  to  be  loving  God  with  all  our 
heart,  and  our  neighbours  as  ourselves. 

For  us,  then,  the  Bible  is  "  the  way  "  j  or  rather, 
it  is  the  guide  which  points  to  "  the  way  "  to  heav- 
en. But  are  its  directions,  its  advice,  always  giv- 
en so  plainly,  that  "  the  wayfaring  men,  though 


44  THE    WAY. 

fools,"  never  "  err  therein  "  ?  /  contend  that  they 
are,  in  all  essential  points.  So  does  almost  every 
one.  Yet,  in  reality,  how  great  are  the  diversities  in 
opinion  and  doctrine  ! 

The  Bible  is  a  glorious  book.  Its  truths  are  reve- 
lations from  God.  It  is  of  vital  importance  to  all  to 
whom  it  has  been  given.  But  does  it  never  strike 
your  mind,  that  it  is  a  pity  it  were  not  a  little  plain- 
er to  the  understandings  of  its  readers  ? 

It  would  be  a  difficult  task  to  enumerate  the 
many  different  and  opposite  doctrines  which  men 
have  in  all  ages  imagined  that  they  discovered  in 
this  Book  of  Truth ;  and  texts  in  any  quantity  have 
been  found  therein  to  support  every  doctrine,  even 
the  wildest.  Even  at  the  present  day,  new  doc- 
trines are  continually  arising,  and  new  modifications 
of  doctrines  are  taking  place,  in  all  which  move- 
ments support  is  drawn  from  the  Holy  Book. 

Why  is  this  so  ?  If  God  had  pleased,  could  he 
not  have  made  all  as  plain  as  the  sun  makes  the 
earth  at  noonday  ?  He  would  by  so  doing  have 
quelled  for  ever  all  doubt  in  the  minds  of  his  crea- 
tures. There  could  have  been  then  but  two  parties, 
at  most,  —  the  friends  and  the  enemies  of  God. 
The  former  would  have  formed  one  perfect  church  ; 
there  could  have  been  no  sects  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  The  latter  (if  any  could  have  existed  under 
such  circumstances)  would  have  ranged  themselves 
together  as  one  unbroken  mass  of  God-haters. 

If  God  had  pleased,  he  could  have  done  this ;  but 
he  did  not  see  fit  so  to  do,  and  we  are  bound  to  be- 
lieve that  he  acted  with  infinite  wisdom. 


THE    WAY.  45 

But  though  I  arrive  at  this  conclusion,  yet  I  love 
to  read  God's  mind  in  his  creations,  spiritual  and 
material.  Though  I  believe  that  all  his  works  are 
perfect,  that  there  is  an  entire  adaptation  of  each  to 
all  and  all  to  each  ;  though  I  believe  that  man  is  fit- 
ted to  the  world  and  the  world  to  man ;  though  I 
believe  with  the  poet,  that, 

"  In  spite  of  man,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 
One  thing  is  plain,  whatever  is  is  right "  ; 

yet  I  love  to  trace  out  this  general  adaptation ;  I  love 
to  explain  away  apparent  imperfections  by  reason,  if 
possible.  When  that  fails,  I  love  to  fall  back  upon 
the  ever-enduring  support  of  faith,  —  faith  in  the 
goodness  of  God  ;  that  never  fails  me.  When  rea- 
son's lamp  burns  dimly,  when  the  clouds  of  doubt 
encompass  me,  when  I  am  weary  with  groping  my 
way,  and  my  feet  stumble  along  the  dark  and  un- 
certain path,  if  I  but  invoke  the  blessed  light  of 
faith,  the  clouds  are  dissipated,  and  all  is  bright 
again.  Bright,  —  but  with  a  dim  and  uncertain 
brightness,  like  moonlight ;  sufficient,  indeed,  to 
show  me  my  path,  to  acquaint  me  with  what  lies 
immediately  around  me,  but  vague  and  deceptive  if 
I  attempt  to  scan  the  horizon.  And  herein  lies  a 
great  truth.  For,  after  all  our  mental  labor  and 
study,  man  can  obtain  only  partial  and  uncertain 
glimpses  of  his  spiritual  destiny.  This  is  but  the 
night  of  his  existence  ;  and  only  when  the  dawn  of 
another  life  breaks  upon  him  can  he  hope  to  see 
eternal  truth  face  to  face,  and  gaze  upon  it  with  un- 
dazzled  eye.  Till  then  he  must  be  contented  to  see, 


46 


THE    WAY. 


by  the  borrowed  light  of  faith,  the  reflection  of  the 
Deity,  valuable  chiefly  in  its  being  an  evidence  of 
the  existence  of  the  Source  of  all  light.  What  if  it 
be  occasionally  eclipsed  by  earth,  we  but  value  it 
the  more  highly  after  it  has  emerged  from  its  dark 
shadow.  There  was  a  sublime  truth  in  the  ancient 
Hebrew  notion,  that  no  man  could  see  God  and  live. 
Mortal  man  cannot  comprehend  Jehovah. 

And  not  until  his  prison  wall 

Is  left,  although  unwillingly  ; 
Not  till  his  galling  fetters  fall, 

And  leave  the  long-bound  prisoner  free  ; 
And  not  until  his  quailing  eye 

Is  strengthened,  can  his  soul  embrace 
The  glories  of  eternal  truth, 

And  see  Jehovah  face  to  face. 

It  is  a  profitable  employment  of  the  time,  talents, 
and  opportunities  which  God  has  given  us,  to 
endeavour  to  prove  to  our  minds,  (what  faith  avers  to 
be  true,  but  which,  practically,  reason  often  doubts,) 
that  in  the  perfection  of  wisdom  has  God  ordered 
all  things. 

To  return.  Why  has  not  God  revealed  himself  to 
us  in  the  Bible  so  clearly  that  none  could  doubt  ? 
Why  has  he  not  informed  us  of  our  duty  and  our 
destiny  so  distinctly  that  all  men  should  act  and  be- 
lieve alike  ?  Let  us,  then,  not  disdaining  the  assist- 
ance of  the  heavenly  lights  of  faith  and  revelation, 
examine  this  subject  by  the  lamp  of  reason  also. 

One  question  is  often  answered  by  asking  another, 
and  the  answer  to  the  latter  is  also  the  answer  to 
the  former. 


THE    WAY.  47 

Look  at  the  material  world,  and  what  do  we 
find  ?  Is  it  perfect,  according  to  the  imperfect 
notions  of  man  ?  Is  he  always  sufficiently  well 
clothed,  fed,  and  housed  to  satisfy  his  ideas  of  bodi- 
ly comfort  ?  Does  he  suffer  nothing  from  the  vicis- 
situdes of  climate,  from  sickness,  or  from  any  of 
God's  creatures  that  cover  the  earth,  swami  in  the 
air,  and  fill  the  waters  ? 

We  find  that  man  is  condemned  to  physical  toil 
and  suffering.  Hardship  seems  to  be  the  condition 
of  his  existence.  And  yet  this  very  hardship  is  found 
to  be,  in  reality,  the  condition  of  his  happiness. 
Without  labor,  health  could  not  exist,  and  the 
pleasure  of  rest  could  not  be  enjoyed ;  without  sick- 
ness, the  advantages  of  health  could  not  be  appreciat- 
ed ;  without  weakness,  strength  could  not  be  valued ; 
in  fine,  (as  we  are  constituted,)  without  pain,  there 
could  be  no  pleasure  ;  without  apparent  evil,  there 
could  be  no  real  good.  We  are,  as  it  were,  most 
readily  instructed  by  opposites.  Evil  is  apparent 
only  ;  for  with  God  nothing  can  be  evil  which  pro- 
duces good.  'Thus  we  find  that  the  principle  of 
compensation  (so  called  for  want  of  a  better  term)  is 
all-pervading.  Look  as  closely  as  we  may  (and  the 
more  closely  the  better)  into  the  physical  constitu- 
tion of  man  and  the  world,  and  we  find  that  they 
are  perfectly  adapted  to  each  other.  Let  no  one  de- 
ny this,  and  attempt  to  explain  the  apparent  evils  by 
saying  that  they  are  real,  and  that  we  were  con- 
demned to  suffer  under  them  as  a  punishment  for  the 
sin  of  our  first  parents  in  the  Garden ;  for  this,  if  true, 


48  THE    WAY. 

would  only  remove  the  difficulty  a  step  farther,  or 
involve  a  charge  of  injustice  against  God  in  punish- 
ing the  children  for  crimes  which  they  did  not  com- 
mit. But  it  is  not  true  ;  for  the  penalty  is  not  con- 
fined in  its  operation  to  man.  The  inferior  animals 
sinned  not  in  Eden,  yet  do  not  they  also  suffer  from 
cold  and  heat,  from  thirst  and  hunger,  and  from  tor- 
ment and  destruction  by  hostile  tribes  ?  Are  not 
their  lives  spent  in  labor  to  sustain  themselves  and 
perpetuate  their  races  ? 

Toil  and  suffering  are,  therefore,  the  innate,  inhe- 
rent, and  all-pervading  conditions  of  animal  existence 
on  earth. 

Leaving  the  inferior  animals,  let  us  observe  the 
operation  of  the  law  of  toil  upon  man.  Nations 
which  are  least  subject  to  it  are  least  advanced  in  re- 
ligion, morals,  arts,  and  sciences,  and  also  in  individ- 
ual comfort  and  national  wealth.  Witness  the  in- 
habitants of  tropical  countries,  where  nature  furnish- 
es food  almost  gratuitously,  and  where  clothing  and 
houses  are  hardly  deemed  necessaries  of  life. 

On  the  contrary,  nations  upon  whom  this  law  lays 
its  commands  more  imperatively,  whose  lot  is  cast 
among  ungenial  climes  and  sterile  soils,  whose 
whole  existence  is  spent  in  a  constant  war  with  the 
elements,  are  far  more  robust  in  body  and  mind, 
purer  in  morals,  and  generally  farther  advanced  in 
arts,  sciences,  and  religion.  Witness  the  inhabitants 
of  the  temperate,  and  even  of  the  frigid  zones. 

Thus  we  find  that  the  law  of  labor  is  a  blessing, 
and  not  a  curse  ;  and  from  the  comparatively  misera- 


THE    WAY.  49 

ble  condition  of  those  upon  whom  this  law  bears 
most  lightly,  we  may  form  some  conception  of  the 
wretched  state  into  which  the  world  would  be 
plunged,  were  mankind  entirely  exempted  from  its 
operation.  Look  about  among  your  own  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances, in  your  own  immediate  neighbourhood, 
and  tell  me  who  are  the  happiest,  —  those  who  spend 
their  lives  in  idleness,  or  those  who  are  compelled 
by  circumstances,  or  induced  by  innate  vigor  of 
mind,  to  lead  a  life  of  continual  activity.  "  In  the 
sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  was 
uttered  in  kindness,  and  not  in  anger.  Blessed 
is  the  man  who  has  always  something  to  do. 

The  law  of  toil  is  therefore  productive  of  great 
benefit  to  man.  So  also  is  the  law  of  suffering. 
Uninterrupted  prosperity  hardens  the  heart.  Adver- 
sity subdues  its  pride  and  its  passions,  and  elevates 
and  purifies  its  higher  feelings.  A  man's  own  per- 
sonal sufferings  call  forth  in  himself  the  virtues  of 
patience  and  resignation.  They  separate  him  from 
the  earthly,  and  attach  him  to  the  spiritual.  The 
night  of  adversity  robs  the  low  earth  of  its  borrowed 
splendor,  but  reveals  to  the  soul  the  countless  lights 
of  heaven.  In  fine,  affliction  leads  to  reflection,  to 
repentance,  to  love  of  God,  to  true  Christianity. 

The  sufferings  of  others  awaken  in  us  the  tender 
emotions  of  pity,  benevolence,  and  love  to  man. 
They  render  us  thankful  for  the  blessings  which  we 
enjoy,  and  make  us  desire  to  impart  them  to  others. 
Were  there  no  suffering  in  this  world,  were  the 
physical  and  moral  constitution  of  man  perfect,  ae- 
5 


50  THE    WAT. 

cording  to  our  ideas  of  perfection,  the  command, 
"  Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,"  would  never  have 
been  uttered.  Its  necessity  would  have  been  super- 
seded. There  would  have  been  nothing  upon  which 
it  could  act. 

The  law  of  suffering  is,  therefore,  beneficial  both 
to  the  sufferer  and  to  those  around  him.  In  wisdom 
has  God  ordered  all  things. 

Examine  still  further  the  physical  and  mental 
condition  of  mankind,  and  we  find,  that,  as  God  has 
made  great  differences  in  climate  and  geographical 
situation,  in  societies  and  nations,  thereby  creating 
an  infinite  variety  of  situations,  to  be  filled  by  dif- 
ferently constituted  individuals,  so  also  has  he  fitted 
mankind  thereto ;  and  we  accordingly  see,  so  innu- 
merable are  the  qualities  and  combinations  of  qual- 
ities, both  of  the  body  and  the  mind,  among  the 
individuals  of  the  human  race,  that  no  two  are  found 
to  possess  exactly  the  same  cast  of  personal  pow- 
ers and  mental  characteristics.  Ail  situations  are 
thus  filled,  and  generally  by  those  who  are  nat- 
urally constituted  to  occupy  them  profitably  for 
themselves  and  mankind.  There  are  the  strong  for 
labor,  the  skilful  for  art,  and  the  intellectual  for  sci- 
ence, with  every  variety  of  combination  of  these 
three,  in  all  imaginable  grades,  from  the  African 
slave  up  to  Newton.  At  the  same  time,  we  are  also 
endowed  with  so  great  a  degree  of  mental  and  phys- 
ical flexibility,  that  we  are  able  to  accommodate  our- 
selves easily  to  almost  any  situation  into  which  we 
may  be  thrown. 


THE    WAY.  51 

I  have  endeavoured  to  show  that  the  laws  of  toil 
and  suffering  are  blessings  to  humanity ;  that  variety 
in  the  world  is  fitted  to  variety  in  mankind ;  that  all 
things  are  suited  to  man,  and  man  to  all  things  ;  in 
fine,  that  in  wisdom  has  God  created  the  world  and 
all  things  therein.  Though  in  our  moments  of 
thoughtlessness  we  may  practically  deny  these  posi- 
tions, yet  calm  reflection  must  convince  us  of  their 
truth.  The  beauty  of  creation  appears  to  man,  not 
so  much  in  the  perfection  of  each  separate  part,  as 
the  exact  adaptation  of  all  parts  to  each  other,  and 
in  the  grandeur  and  perfection  of  the  harmonious 
whole.  Let  mortal  man  (could  he  be  endowed  with 
the  requisite  power)  remove  but  one  stone  from  this 
glorious  arch,  in  the  vain  hope  of  improving  it,  and 
he  would  be  awakened  from  his  foolish  day-dream 
by  the  thundering  crash  of  ruined  worlds.  If  thou 
canst  not  bring  thine  intellect  to  acknowledge  this, 
then  let  Faith  assist  thee,  for  thou  hast  need  of  her 
aid. 

I  said  that  the  answer  to  one  question  will 
often  be  found  to  contain  the  answer  to  another, 
though  apparently  on  a  different  subject.  There  is 
an  analogy  among  all  created  things. 

If  God  has  thus  perfected  his  material  creations, 
if  he  has  thus  admirably  adapted  thereto  the  animal 
and  the  intellectual  constitution  of  man,  think  you 
he  has  neglected  his  moral  constitution,  —  the  high- 
est and  most  important  part  of  his  nature  ?  Think 
you  that  he^is  unmindful  of  man's  spiritual  condition, 
progress,  and  destiny  ?  Has  he  provided  for  the 


52  THE    WAY. 

body  and  neglected  the  soul  ?  Has  he  provided  for 
time  and  neglected  eternity  ?  No,  no  ;  he  who  sees 
clearly  must  perceive  that  with  God  the  welfare  of 
the  soul  is  the  primary,  and  the  welfare  of  the  body 
the  secondary  consideration.  Matter  is  but  the 
vehicle  on  which  the  spirit  rides  to  heaven,  to  be 
cast  aside  when  no  longer  needed.  We  arrive, 
therefore,  at  the  conclusion,  that,  if  God's  material 
world  be  thus  perfect,  his  spiritual  creation  cannot 
be  less  so.  In  that,  too,  means  must  be  perfectly 
adapted  to  ends. 

Among  the  innumerable  aids  provided  to  assist 
man  in  his  spiritual  progress,  the  Bible  is  the  most 
important.  Indeed,  many  natural  aids  which  we 
deem  independent  of  it  were  in  fact  revealed  by  it. 
Yet  all  who  study  it  do  not  arrive  at  the  same  con- 
clusions. There  are  a  thousand  and  one  sects,  each 
differing  in  its  creed  from  every  other,  —  differ- 
ing in  what  each  deems  essential  points  •  and  more 
than  this,  each  member  of  each  sect  differs  in  minor 
points  from  every  other  member  of  his  society ;  and 
all  claim  to  be  supported  by  this  Holy  Book  of 
Truth! 

Can  this  be  so,  and  be  right  ? 

Yes,  it  is  so,  and  it  is  right.     Why  is  it  right  ? 

1.  Because   human  nature  cannot  perfectly  com- 
prehend the  Deity.     If  it  could,  it  would  be  able  to 
attain  to  the  possession  of  infinite  knowledge,  even  in 
this  world.     We  should  be  gods,  and  not  men. 

2.  Because   (except  in   his  direct   reyelations   to 
the   heart   of  each)    God    must    necessarily   reveal 


THE    WAY.  53 

himself  to  us  in  human  language,  which  can  never 
be  otherwise  than  imperfect.  Or  he  must  reveal 
himself  by  human  agents,  or  by  agents  in  the  shape 
of  humanity.  If  by  the  latter,  they  look,  act,  and 
speak  like  men,  be  they  never  so  perfect.  If  by  the 
former,  as  has  most  frequently  been  the  case,  then 
they  are  but  men  like  those  around  them,  and  are 
subject  to  their  passions  and  infirmities.  Besides, 
how  could  these  special  agents,  —  these  prophets,  — 
themselves  have  heard  God  otherwise  than  imper- 
fectly ?  They  were  men,  and  therefore  comprehend- 
ed but  faintly.  Consequently,  their  revelations  could 
not  have  been  otherwise  than  faint,  —  more  faint  even 
than  their  own  conceptions ;  for  they  could  speak 
only  in  human  language.  Indeed,  the  conceptions 
of  the  prophets  and  apostles  themselves  must  have 
been  extremely  vague ;  for  in  our  every-day  experi- 
ence, how  uncertain  are  our  comparatively  tangible 
thoughts,  until  shaped  into  language !  If  words 
cannot  be  found  in  which  to  embody  them,  how 
soon  they  elude  our  grasp  and  fade  away ! 

Revelations  of  the  Deity  are,  therefore,  according 
to  the  present  constitution  of  man  and  of  the  world, 
necessarily  imperfect.  Let  us  endeavour  to  discover 
why  it  is  best  they  should  be  so,  and  thus  to  discern 
real  perfection  in  apparent  imperfection. 

1.  It  is  best,  because  spiritual  truth,  if  obtainable 
without  exertion,  would  not  be  properly  esteemed 
by  man.  He  values  least  that  which  is  most  easily 
acquired  ;  he  values  most  that  upon  the  obtaining  of 
which  he  has  expended  the  greatest  amount  of  labor, 
5* 


54  THE    WAY. 

whether  of  body  or  mind.  Action  is  the  condition 
upon  which  the  health  of  the  soul  depends.  "  In 
the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  said 
God  unto  Adam.  "  By  mental  toil  shalt  thou  earn 
thy  soul's  food,"  is  stamped  quite  as  plainly  on 
the  mental  and  moral  constitutions  of  his  descend- 
ants. Herein  is  the  analogy  between  the  material 
and  spiritual  creations  perfect.  Labor  is  alike  the 
condition  of  progress  in  both. 

The  great  law  of  Jehovah 

Is  action,  here  on  earth  ; 
It  is  the  only  prover 

Of  spiritual  worth. 
Then  tempt  me  not,  and  think  not 

To  shake  my  soul  with  doubt ; 
God  helping  me,  I  '11  shrink  not, 

But  fight  the  battle  out. 

The  language  of  another  will  here  apply,  altered 
somewhat  to  suit  the  subject. 

"  Therefore,  God,  in  his  revelations  of  himself  to 
man  through  the  Holy  Book,  hath  not  instructed 
him  as  to  all  the  particulars  in  relation  to  the  subject- 
matter  of  instruction,  but  still  insinuated  some  per- 
ception thereof,  that  thus  a  desire  of  examining  and 
acquiring  the  knowledge  of  it  might  be  excited  and 
cherished ;  which  desire  would  die  away,  in  case  all 
the  particulars  were  explained." 

2.  It  is  best  that  revelation  should  be  imperfect, 
and  hence  that  innumerable  sects  should  be  called 
into  being,  because,  as  in  the  animal  existence 

*  Swedenborg,  N.  35. 


THE    WAY.  55 

of  mankind,  sickness  and  suffering  in  others  call 
forth  pity  and  benevolence  in  ourselves,  so  the 
soul's  sickness,  the  ignorance  and  the  spiritual  wants 
(or  what  we  deem  the  spiritual  wants)  of  others, 
lead  us  to  attempt  to  enlighten  their  path  with  our 
own  feeble  lamps,  and  to  nourish  them  with  our  own 
scanty  stores  of  knowledge,  —  lead  us,  in  fine,  to  at- 
tempt their  conversion.  And  if  the  attempt  be  made 
in  the  right  spirit,  our  lamps  glow  the  brighter,  and 
our  stores  increase  in  proportion  as  we  impart  them 
to  others.  Differences  in  religious  opinions  are  of 
incalculable  benefit  to  mankind.  They  excite 
thought ;  and  though  the  discussions  which  arise 
often  fan  the  embers  of  discord,  they  serve  also  to 
keep  alive  the  pure  flame  of  true  religion.  Thus, 
differences  in  the  physical  condition  of  mankind,  and 
differences  in  their  spiritual  condition,  both  alike 
serve  to  help  them  on  their  road  to  heaven. 

These  latter  differences  result,  inevitably,  from  the 
apparent  imperfection  of  revelation,  and  the  differ- 
ences in  the  constitution  of  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  individuals.  And, 

3.  This  brings  us  to  our  last  and  most  important 
reason  for  the  apparent  imperfection  of  revelation. 
It  does  not  appear  alike  to  all,  because  the  minds 
of  men  are  not  all  alike.  It  is  suited  to  the  ac- 
knowledged imperfection  of  human  nature.  It  is  not 
entire,  because  the  mind  of  man  is  not  infinite,  and 
therefore  could  not  comprehend  revelation  if  it  were 
so.  It  was  intentionally  made  imperfect.  Prophets 
and  holy  men  of  old  were  designedly  allowed  to 


56  THE    WAY. 

mingle  with  the  eternal  truths  which  they  revealed 
somewhat  of  their  own  human  passion  and  infirmity. 
Some  minds  cannot  receive  as  truth  that  which 
seems  perfectly  plain  to  others.  Perhaps  none  can 
receive  truth  unadulterated.  As  in  the  natural  world 
an  infinite  variety  of  climate,  of  food,  and  of  occu- 
pation is  provided  for  the  infinite  variety  in  the 
physical  constitutions  of  men,  so  in  the  Book  in 
which  God  reveals  himself  to  men  he  has  provided 
for  the  infinite  variety  in  their  spiritual  constitutions. 
Thus,  while  the  path  of  human  duty  is  made  plain 
to  all,  a  wide  range  is  given  for  theorizing  and 
speculation.  In  the  latter  every  one  may,  and  every 
one  does,  suit  himself;  and  hence  arise  sects  innu- 
merable. With  regard  to  human  duty  there  is  but  lit- 
tle difference  in  opinion ;  there  is  hardly  room  for  it 
to  exist ;  for  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  the  whole 
duty  of  man  is  laid  down.  It  speaks  to  the  hearts 
and  understandings  of  all.  It  points  to  the  great 
highway,  which,  beginning  on  earth,  ends  in  heaven. 
So  that  we  do  not  lose  sight  of  the  path  of  hu- 
man duty  we  shall  be  pardoned  for  an  occasional 
episode  or  vagary  in  creed  and  doctrine.  This  is 
the  path  in  which  "  wayfaring  men,  though  fools, 
shall  not  err."  This  is  the  path  which  is  open  alike 
to  Jew  and  Gentile,  to  Christian  and  to  heathen. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  show  that  the  physical  con- 
stitutions of  man  and  of  the  world  are  perfectly 
adapted  to  each  other,  so  as  to  produce  the  intended 
ends.  I  have  also  endeavoured  to  show,  by  analogy 


THE    WAY.  57 

and  otherwise,  that  the  moral  and  intellectual  consti- 
tution of  man  is  exactly  suited  to  his  circumstances, 
and  that  God  has  adapted  thereto  the  revelations 
which,  from  time  to  time,  he  has  made  of  man's  ori- 
gin, duty,  and  destiny.  I  have  also  endeavoured  to 
show  that  God  has  provided  a  highway  on  which  all 
may  travel  to  heaven,  and  that  this  highway  is  love, 
—  that  "  love  "  which  is  said  to  he  "  the  fulfilling  of 
the  law," — love  to  God  and  love  to  man,  which  are 
in  practice  the  same.  In  fine,  I  have  endeavoured 
to  show  that  in  wisdom  God  has  made  all  things, 
spiritual  as  well  as  material.  Volumes  have  been 
and  may  be  written  on  this  subject,  but  it  never  has 
been  or  can  be  exhausted;  for  it  comprehends  all 
subjects. 

Art  thou  undecided  between  the  Trinity  and 
Unity  ?  Art  thou  fearful  that  thou  shalt  not  render 
due  honor  to  each  member  of  the  Godhead  ?  Wor- 
ship the  Almighty  Spirit  of  the  Universe ;  and  be  as- 
sured, that,  in  adoring  the  whole,  thou  adorest  each 
part.  Art  thou  lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  doctrine  of 
Atonement  ?  Art  thou  unable  to  receive  it,  and  at 
the  same  time  fearful  of  condemnation  in  not  accept- 
ing it  ?  Go  and  do  a  kind  service  to  a  suffering 
brother-man,  and  thy  path  shall  be  enlightened,  thy 
heart  made  easy,  and  thou  shalt  go  on  thy  way 
rejoicing.  Dost  thou  doubt  of  thine  own  salva- 
tion ?  Go,  repent  of  thy  sins ;  forgive  all  who  have 
offended  thee,  as  thou  desirest  to  be  forgiven;  do 
unto  others  as  thou  wouldst  that  others  should  do 
unto  thee ;  and,  as  thou  fearest  the  judgment  of  God, 


58  THE    WAY. 

judge  kindly  of  thy  fellow-mortals,  Quarrel  with 
no  man  on  account  of  his  honest  belief;  for  if  thou 
art  wise,  thou  wilt  bethink  thee  how  likely  it  is 
that  thou  thyself  art  in  error,  —  nay,  how  impossi- 
ble it  is,  that,  on  many  points,  thou  shouldst  be  oth- 
erwise. 

Thus,  whenever  thou  art  lost  in  the  mazes  of  theo- 
retical theology,  go,  practise  that  which  thou  know- 
est  to  be  right,  and  fear  not  the  issue.  For  "  if  any 
man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall  KNOW  OF  THE  DOC- 
TRINE." 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE, 

OR  PRINCIPLES  CARRIED  OUT.* 


"  MY  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mallory  to  his  wife  one 
morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  "my  dear,  you  know 
1  have  fully  adopted  the  principles  of  Teetotalism, 
Abolitionism,  and  Non-resistance.  Upon  reflection, 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  principles  are  of 
no  use  whatever,  unless  put  in  practice  ;  and  I  have 
determined  to  carry  mine  out  to  their  full  extent, 
and  be  governed  by  them  in  every  act  of  my  life, 
however  apparently  trivial." 

"  Your  theory  sounds  very  well,  Mr.  Mallory," 
said  his  wife ;  "  but  what  change  do  you  intend  to 
make  in  your  practice  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  always 
been  temperate  ;  you  have  always  raised  your  voice 
against  slavery  at  all  proper  times  ;  and  certainly  you 
are  not  a  fighting  man  ;  I  never  knew  you  to  get  in- 
to a  quarrel  in  your  life,  although  your  temper  may 
have  been  occasionally  ruffled.  How  can  you  alter 
your  practice,  except  by  keeping  a  more  strict  watch 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  October,  1842. 


60  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

over  your  thoughts,  actions,  and  words,  so  as  to  offer 
as  perfect  an  example  as  possible  of  a  Christian  life  ? 
I  confess  I  cannot  see." 

"  We  must  go  farther  than  that,  my  dear.  It  has 
been  the  fault  of  most  moral  reformers,  that  they 
have  endeavoured  to  eschew  evil  themselves,  to  wash 
their  own  hands  clear  of  sin,  and  at  the  same  time 
have  practically  upheld  others  in  their  iniquity.  As 
for  myself,  I  am  determined  to  make  thorough  work, 
be  the  consequences  what  they  may.  We  must 
discontinue  the  use  of  sugar  and  molasses.  They 
are  products  of  slavery ;  and  I  will  not  uphold  that 
institution,  how  indirectly  soever.  I  will  have  no 
more  cotton  used  in  my  family  for  the  same  reason, 
You  must  purchase  linen  instead." 

"  But,  Mr.  Mallory,  how  expensive  that  will  be !  " 
"  I  can't  help  it,  wife  ;  I  will  not  sell  my  soul  for 
money.  And  there  is  another  thing ;  you  must  not 
buy  any  thing  more  of  Mr.  Winkle  the  grocer.  I 
hear  he  sells  wine  by  the  gallon,  and  I  cannot  con- 
scientiously patronize  such  a  man.  And  you  know 
I  told  William  the  next  time  he  played  truant  I 
would  punish  him,  and  lock  him  into  his  room  two 
days.  Now  yesterday  morning  he  did  not  go  to 
school,  as  he  was  told  to  do,  and  in  the  afternoon 
he  carried  a  forged  excuse  for  his  absence.  Super- 
ficially considered,  perhaps,  if  he  ever  deserved  pun- 
ishment, he  does  now  ;  but  mature  reflection  con- 
vinces me  that  the  principle  of  non-resistance  forbids 
the  use  of  coercion,  even  upon  a  boy.  We  must 
rule  by  love.  Is  it  not  written,  '  Vengeance  is  mine, 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  61 

I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord '  ?  And  are  we  not 
commanded,  ;  Resist  not  evil '  ?  No  exception  is 
made  in  the  case  of  children.  It  would  be  doing 
evil  in  my  family  for  the  sake  of  keeping  evil  out  of 
it.  No  ;  I  '11  not  punish  William  ;  for  it  is  no  better 
for  a  full-grown  man  to  fight  with  a  little  boy  than 
for  two  men  to  fight.  It  is  a  relic  of  barbarism,  this 
using  the  rod,  and  shutting  up  children  in  dark 
rooms.  It  is  an  awful  crime  for  a  parent  to  strike 
his  child.  —  No  ;  I  will  use  love  and  moral  suasion, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  God." 

"But,  Mr.  Mallory,  have  n't  you  always  punished 
William  in  love  ?  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  you  had 
punished  him  in  anger.  You  know  he  is  always  a 
good  boy  for  two  or  three  months  after  punishment ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  talking  and  persuading 
seem  to  have  no  effect  whatever  upon  him  at  cer- 
tain times.  I  fear  you  will  ruin  him  for  ever  by  this 
sudden  change  in  your  system  of  government." 

"  I  think  not,  Mrs.  Mallory ;  but  even  the  fear  of 
that  should  not  deter  me  from  doing  my  duty,  which 
I  conceive  to  be  plainly  this :  Whenever  I  discover 
that  I  have  been  acting  on  wicked  principles,  I  must 
discard  them  at  once,  and  adopt  Christian  principles 
in  their  stead  ;  and  no  consideration  of  expediency 
should  induce  me  for  a  moment  to  continue  in  my 
old  course.  I  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon." 

"  I  have  a  case  in  point,  which  I  think  you  will 
allow  to  be  an  exception  to  your  rule.     A  man  was 
injured  by  a  fall  last  week,  who  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  drink  a  pint  and  a  half  of  spirit  daily. 
6 


62  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

He  was  taken  to  the  hospital  j  and  the  doctor,  who 
was  a  thorough-going  teetotalist,  refused  to  allow 
him  any  stimulant  whatsoever,  because  he  considered 
the  use  of  spirituous  liquors  a  great  sin  ;  and  no 
considerations  of  expediency,  he  said,  should  induce 
him  for  a  moment  to  consent  to  such  a  thing.  He 
must  do  his  duty  and  leave  the  rest  in  the  hands  of 
God;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  poor  sot 
had  the  delirium  tremens,  and  died ;  when  half  his 
usual  quantity  of  spirit,  slightly  decreased  daily, 
would  probably  have  saved  his  life.  Now  I  am 
afraid  the  sudden  change  in  your  system  of  govern- 
ment will  prove  equally  fatal  to  William.  Can't  you 
make  a  change  more  gradually?  " 

"  Gradually  !  Would  you  ask  a  pirate  to  leave  off 
robbing  and  murdering  gradually?  The  principle 
is  the  same  in  my  case ;  the  difference  is  only  in  de- 
gree." 

After  uttering  this  sage  opinion,  Mr.  Mallory  put 
on  his  hat  and  walked  down  to  his  counting-room,  to 
attend  to  his  mercantile  business,  mentally  reiterating 
on  the  way  the  new  rule  of  action  which  he  had  laid 
down  for  himself:  Never  to  depart  for  an  instant 
from  his  non-resistant,  abolition,  and  teetotal  princi- 
ples, whatever  might  be  the  consequence  to  himself 
or  others.  He  determined  to  test  every  act  of  his 
life  by  his  new  code  of  morals.  Poor  man  !  he  did 
not  reflect  that  there  is  a  higher  principle,  —  the 
only  primary,  true,  and  immutable  rule  of  action  : 
'  Cease  to  do  evil  j  learn  to  do  well ' ;  and  that  all 
others  are  but  secondary  to  this  great  principle,  and, 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  63 

when  found  conflicting  with  it,  cease  to  be  correct 
rules  of  life. 

Now  it  chanced  that  one  of  Mr.  Mallory's  ships 
had  arrived  on  the  previous  night,  and  one  was  to 
sail  on  that  day,  after  clearing  at  the  custom-house. 
But  as  he  had  repudiated  human  government,  ab- 
solved himself  from  all  allegiance  to  it,  and  renounced 
its  protection,  what  could  he  do  with  those  vessels  ? 
Pay  duties  on  his  cargo  in  one  case,  or  pay  for  clear- 
ance in  the  other,  he  could  not ;  for  would  not  these 
sums  contribute  toward  upholding  a  system  of  vio- 
lence and  war  ?  His  vessel  could  not  go  to  sea 
without  papers  ;  so  he  discharged  captain  and  crew, 
and  laid  her  up  at  the  wharf.  He  could  not,  for  the 
same  reason,  pay  the  duties  on  the  cargo  just  arrived  ; 
so  he  discharged  the  crew  and  laid  up  the  other 
vessel  also ! 

Not  many  days  elapsed  before  Mr.  Mallory  discov- 
ered that  the  person  to  whom  he  paid  wharfage 
led  a  very  dissolute  life.  He  came  to  the  conclusion, 
that  the  money  which  he  paid  him  went  to  support 
him  in  his  extravagance  and  dissipation.  He  could 
not  encourage  any  man  in  such  courses ;  and  as  he 
owned  no  wharf  himself,  and  could  find  no  wharf- 
owners  whose  characters  were  immaculate,  he  was 
sorely  puzzled  what  to  do  with  his  vessels.  Provi- 
dentially, he  succeeded  in  finding  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  abolitionists  and  temperance-men  whom  his 
conscience  would  allow  him  to  employ,  and  there- 
upon he  caused  his  vessels  to  be  taken  to  the  middle 
of  the  stream  and  safely  moored.  He  was  then  easy 


64  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

on  that  score.  He  had  many  offers  for  his  vessels ; 
but  they  all  came  from  men  to  whom  his  conscience 
forbade  him  to  sell.  As  a  matter  of  course,  none 
who  agreed  with  him  in  opinion  wished  to  engage 
in  such  unholy  traffic ;  and  he  could  not  sell  to  oth- 
ers, for  that  would  be  encouraging  them  in  sins 
which  he  dared  not  commit  himself. 


A  few  days  after  this,  Mrs.  Mallory  asked  her 
husband  for  a  little  money,  which  she  needed  for 
some  household  purpose. 

"I  have  no  money,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mallory. 

"  You  have  no  money,  Mr.  Mallory  ?  Why,  you 
have  become  very  poor  all  at  once !  There  were 
large  dividends  declared  on  your  bank  stock  last 
week ;  why  don't  you  draw  them  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  Mrs.  Mallory ;  my  conscience  will  not  al- 
low me,  to  do  so." 

"  Heaven  help  us  !  —  is  the  man  crazy  ?  "  exclaim- 
ed his  wife. 

"  I  trust  not,  my  dear ;  but  listen  and  judge  wheth- 
er I  am  right  or  not.  I  have  discovered  that  large 
profits  are  made  in  these  banks  on  loans  of  money 
to  distillers  ;  to  traffickers  in  spirits  and  wines, 
and  in  products  of  slave  labor ;  and  to  the  govern- 
ment, to  be  employed  in  building  war-ships,  and  in 
carrying  on  wars  of  extermination  against  the  poor 
Indians.  The  capital  which  I  have  invested  in  those 
banks  is  used  in  a  thousand  ways  to  uphold  vice 
and  crime.  It  grieves  me  to  the  heart  to  think 
that  money  of  mine  is  employed  for  such  base  pur- 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  65 

poses.  It  has  become  the  sinews  of  war,  the  op- 
pressor of  slaves,  and  the  demon  of  the  distillery. 
This  money  of  mine  is  scattering  moral  pestilence 
and  death,  wherever  it  goes.  And  it  is  potent  for 
evil ;  for  no  sooner  has  it  finished  one  deed  of  dark- 
ness and  returned  to  the  bank  vaults,  than  it  is  again 
sent  forth  on  another  errand  of  iniquity,  and  so  on 
for  ever.  I  will  touch  no  more  of  the  spoils !  " 

"  Then  sell  your  stock,"  said  Mrs.  Mallory  ;  "sell 
it,  and  we  can  live  on  the  principal." 

"  Sell  it,  woman  ?  "  said  the  short-sighted  moralist, 
with  virtuous  indignation  ;  "  do  you  suppose  I  would 
encourage  others  to  commit  crimes  of  which  I  shrink 
to  be  guilty  myself  ?  Never !  I  will  leave  the 
matter  to  Providence.  I  will  neither  touch,  taste, 
nor  handle  the  accursed  thing." 

"  If  you  are  not  mad  yourself,  you  will  drive  me 
mad,  Mr.  Mallory.  It  is  lucky  that  you  owe  no  debts. 
But  there  are  many  things  wanted  in  the  family, 
and  unless  you  can  contrive  some  way  to  get  them, 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  go  to  the  workhouse  soon." 

"  O,  I  can  raise  a  little  money  for  immediate  use. 
Brother  Brumble  wants  to  buy  some  furniture  for 
his  parlour,  and  as  I  know  he  is  a  good  man,  and  will 
not  make  a  bad  use  of  it,  I  intend  to  sell  him  all 
our  drawing-room  furniture." 

Mrs.  Mallory  controlled  herself  with  difficulty ; 
and  when  she  saw  the  furniture  carried  away,  she  re- 
tired to  her  chamber  and  wept  bitterly  at  the  misera- 
ble prospect  before  her. 


66  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

William  soon  got  wind  of  his  father's  new  system 
of  family  government.  He  concluded  not  to  go  to 
school  any  more ;  spent  his  time  in  bad  company  ; 
rode  about  a  great  deal,  and  ran  up  a  large  bill  at 
every  tavern  and  stable  in  town.  He  was  but  thir- 
teen years  old,  yet  he  soon  reached  half  a  century  in 
sin.  Mrs.  Mallory  was  heart-broken.  Mr.  Mallory 
would  have  been  wretched,  but  his  principles  upheld 
him  in  this  hour  of  trial.  He  could  not  interfere,  for 
it  would  violate  his  conscience ;  and  so  it  came  to 
pass  that  William  went  to  the  Devil  as  fast  as  he 
could  travel. 

Time  rolled  on.  With  bills  against  his  son  con- 
tinually coming  in,  and  never-ceasing  demands  for 
household  expenses,  Mr.  Mallory  was  sorely  puzzled 
for  money.  One  by  one,  every  piece  of  spare  furni- 
ture was  disposed  of;  expenses  were  curtailed,  do- 
mestics dismissed,  and  yet  there  remained  many  calls 
unanswered  and  many  debts  unpaid.  Mrs.  Mallory 
at  this  time  discovered  that  her  husband  was  a  large 
proprietor  in  the  Lowell  railroad  ;  a  circumstance  of 
which  she  was  not  before  aware,  for  all  husbands  do 
not  inform  their  wives  of  all  the  property  which  they 
possess.  This  corporation  had  lately  made  a  semi- 
annual dividend  of  four  per  cent.  Mr.  Mallory 
owned  fifteen  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock  ;  six 
hundred  dollars  would  make  them  quite  easy  again. 
She  resolved  to  mention  the  subject  to  her  husband  ; 
and  accordingly  at  supper  that  evening  she  began  by 
inquiring  of  Mr.  Mallory  why  he  did  not  draw  his 
dividend  on  his  Lowell  railroad  stock. 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  67 

"  Lowell  railroad  stock  !  "  said  he  ;  "  how  did 
you  know  that  I  owned  any  ?  " 

"No  matter  how  I  discovered  the  fact,"  said  she  ; 
"  you  do  own  it :  now  why  don't  you  make  use  of 
it,  and  relieve  your  family  from  disgrace  and  want  ? 
I  have  been  obliged  to  take  Emily  and  Ann  from 
school,  because  I  have  no  means  of  paying  their  tu- 
ition ;  and  unless  you  will  avail  yourself  of  the 
means  you  possess,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  send  them 
to  the  district  school ;  no  great  hardship,  certainly, 
were  it  not  that  we  are  able  to  do  better  for  them. 
Almost  every  decent  article  of  our  furniture  has  been 
sold  ;  yet  our  butcher's  and  grocer's  bills  are  unpaid, 
and  our  children  are  greatly  in  need  of  dresses  and 
shoes.  Do,  my  dear  husband,  draw  this  railroad 
dividend  ;  we  shall  then  be  at  ease,  at  least  for  some 
months  to  come,  by  which  time  I  hope  you  may  be 
brought  to  entertain  more  rational  views  on  these 
matters." 

"  Rational  views  !  "  said  Mr.  Mallory ;  "  that  is 
ever  the  way  with  you  advocates  of  expediency  ! 
When  one  has  grasped  the  truth,  and  determined  to 
hold  fast  to  it,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may, 
he  is  '  irrational '  ;  he  is  i  a  fanatic  '  j  he  '  carries 
his  principles  too  far,'  &c.  ;  as  if  truth  were  a  thing 
to  be  taken  up  when  convenient,  and  dropped  when 
burdensome.  In  my  days  of  sin  and  darkness  I  pur- 
chased a  large  amount  of  stock  in  the  Lowell  rail- 
road ;  but  now  that  my  eyes  are  opened,  my  con- 
science will  not  allow  me  to  draw  any  support  from 
that  polluted  source.  The  profits  of  that  road  are 


68  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

made  by  conveying  passengers  of  all  kinds,  many 
of  whom  are  engaged  in  morally  unlawful  business, 
and  are  enabled  by  it  to  prosecute  their  sinful  under- 
takings with  vigor  and  success  :  for  instance,  distil- 
lers, and  wholesale  and  retail  dealers  in  wine  and 
ardent  spirits.  The  money  of  pickpockets,  gam- 
blers, drunkards,  keepers  and  inmates  of  bad  houses, 
and  of  almost  every  kind  of  vile  creature  in  the 
shape  of  humanity,  all  goes  to  make  up  and  swell 
the  profits  of  this  corporation.  And  yet  you  ask  me 
to  partake  of  this  unholy  spoil !  But  there  are 
worse  objections.  A  large  proportion  of  the  revenue 
of  the  road  is  derived  from  the  transportation  of  cot- 
ton, a  slave  product,  from  Boston  to  Lowell,  and 
from  freight  of  manufactured  cotton  goods  from 
Lowell  to  Boston.  This  is  the  great  business  to 
which  the  road  is  devoted,  —  this,  and  the  convey- 
ance of  persons  engaged  in  manufacturing  cotton. 
The  Lowell  railroad  is  one  great  prop  of  the  tottering 
edifice  of  slavery.  I  will  touch  none  of  the  unhal- 
lowed spoil !  " 

And  thereupon  Mr.  Mallory  put  on  his  hat  and 
walked  out  of  the  house,  with  his  head  very  erect, 
and  his  face  glowing  with  the  expression  of  the  self- 
satisfied  and  self-righteous  feelings  which  filled  his 
heart,  and  which  he  mistook  for  philanthropy  and 
virtuous  resolution. 

As  he  passed  along  the  street,  and  recognized 
"  morally  unlawful  business,"  he  indulged  in  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  would  have  startled  him,  could 
he  have  seen  them  put  into  words.  Thus  they 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  69 

ran ;  and  though  he  knew  it  not,  the  Devil  was  busy 
with  his  heart :  —  "I  thank  thee,  God  !  that  I  am  not 
like  those  whom  I  see  around  me."  He  forgot  the 
publican  who  was  justified  before  the  Pharisee.  "  I 
thank  thee  that  I  am  not  a  wine-bibber."  He  for- 
got that  his  Saviour  drank  wine,  and,  when  there  was 
none  to  be  had,  even  turned  water  into  wine,  for  the 
use  of  the  wedding-guests.  "I  thank  thee  that  I 
do  not,  like  these  sinners  around  me,  contribute  to 
support  human  government  and  all  its  attendant  in- 
iquities." He  forgot  that  the  Saviour  paid  tribute 
to  Caesar,  which  went  to  support  the  government 
of  Rome  and  all  its  concomitants. 

Thus  wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  self-righteousness, 
and  possessed  by  the  demon  of  scorn,  he  passed 
through  the  streets,  in  his  heart  despising  all  whom 
he  met,  and  arrogating  to  himself  a  purity  beyond 
that  of  his  Divine  Master.  And  yet  Mr.  Mallory  im- 
agined that  his  heart  was  filled  with  true  philanthro- 
py, and  the  pure  religion  of  the  meek  and  lowly 
Jesus.  Alas  for  him  !  alas  for  us  all !  For  are  we 
not  liable,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  to  the  same 
condemnation  ? 

Time  passed  on  ;  and  Mr.  Mallory,  being  deter- 
mined to  act  "  up  to  his  principles  "  in  all  things,  ex- 
tended the  operation  of  his  impracticable  theories 
day  by  day  into  the  minutest  ramifications  of  the 
business  of  life.  He  was  soon  looked  upon  by 
many  as  an  insane  man,  and  his  friends  had  a  guar- 
dian appointed  to  administer  his  affairs  and  look  after 


70  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

the  welfare  of  his  family.  This  had  become  a  ne- 
cessary step,  and  Mrs.  Mallory  readily  consented  that 
it  should  be  taken. 

But  from  that  day  and  hour  her  husband  refused 
to  live  in  the  house,  or  partake  with  the  family  in 
their  meals.  He  said  that  this  "  would  be  but  sharing 
in  unholy  spoil."  He  went  about  preaching  his  fa- 
vorite doctrines,  living  upon  alms,  and  altogether 
leading  a  precarious  and  vagrant  life.  For,  instead  of 
eating  such  meats  as  were  set  before  him,  on  the 
principle  that  "  the  workman  is  worthy  of  his  hire," 
into  whatsoever  house  he  entered,  he  first  asked,  — 
"  Are  you  abolitionists,  teetotallers,  and  non-resistants 
here  ? "  If  answered  in  the  negative,  he  proceeded 
no  farther ;  but  retracing  his  steps  to  the  street,  faced 
round  and  poured  out  such  a  volley  of  terrible  denun- 
ciations against  them  and  theirs,  dooming  them  to  in- 
famy in  this  life  and  eternal  perdition  in  the  next, 
that  the  inmates  soon  closed  their  doors  and  win- 
dows in  self-defence,  and  left  him  to  deliver  the  rest 
of  his  lecture  to  the  crowd  of  laughing  and  hooting 
boys  who  always  gathered  about  him  on  such  occa- 
sions. If,  on  the  contrary,  the  answer  was  in  the 
affirmative,  he  would  enter  that  house  with  pleasure, 
and  seat  himself  for  a  talk  on  his  favorite  and  only 
topics.  He  seldom  found  any  of  his  friends,  howev- 
er, who  held  doctrines  so  ultra  as  his  own ;  and 
when  he  discovered  that  they  were  not  inclined  to 
carry  their  principles  to  such  a  ridiculous  extent  as 
he  had  carried  his,  he  charged  them  with  "  making  a 
compromise  with  the  Devil "  ;  with  attempting  to 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  71 

serve  both  God  and  Mammon  ;  and  invariably  depart- 
ed from  that  house  immediately,  refusing  to  partake 
of  any  refreshment,  and  breathing  out  denunciations 
even  more  bitter  than  he  bestowed  upon  those  who 
differed  from  him  wholly  both  in  principles  and  prac- 
tice. "  For,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  his  skirts  clear  of 
such  friends,  "you  sin  with  your  eyes  open  ;  you 
sin  against  the  Holy  Spirit  that  is  within  you,  whose 
teachings  you  comprehend,  but  refuse  to  obey  ;  and 
never,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next,  shall  the  dew 
of  forgiveness  descend  on  your  parched  and  thirsty 
souls." 

Mr.  Mallory  would  have  been  starved  outright, 
were  it  not  that  some  charitable  persons  kept  their 
opinions  to  themselves,  tacitly  allowing  him  to  be- 
lieve that  they  agreed  with  him  in  all  things,  and 
by  this  kindly  silence  inducing  him  to  accept  of 
their  hospitality.  Not  always,  however,  could  these 
considerate  friends  avoid  giving  cause  of  offence  to 
his  scrupulous  conscience.  He  would  inquire  the 
history  of  every  article  of  food  that  was  set  before 
him,  and  if  he  could  detect  any  slavery,  alcoholic, 
or  warlike  taint  therein,  he  would  refuse  to  partake 
of  those  viands,  and  would  often  quit  the  house  al- 
together, lest  he  should  be  contaminated  by  those 
who,  as  he  said,  "  professed  one  thing  with  their 
lips  and  practised  the  very  opposite  in  their  daily 
lives."  He  once  spent  a  few  days  with  a  benevo- 
lent physician,  for  whom  he  did  some  writing  as  an 
offset  for  his  board ;  but  he  left  his  house  in  holy 
horror,  on  being  requested  to  copy  a  prescription 


72  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

for  the  cholera  in  which  the  word   "  brandy  "   ap- 
peared ! 

Thus  sane  on  all  other  points,  (and  some  may 
think  on  all,)  Mr.  Mallory  led  a  vagabond  life, 
preaching  through  the  cities  and  villages  his  favorite 
doctrines  of  moral  reform,  speaking  really  a  great 
deal  of  truth,  laying  down  generally  correct  premises, 
but  reasoning  thereon  in  such  a  manner  as  almost 
invariably  to  lead  to  error.  His  motto  was,  —  "  Nev- 
er stand  still  ;  follow  unhesitatingly  where  principles 
lead ;  always  improve."  An  excellent  motto,  cer- 
tainly, and  worthy  to  be  adopted  by  all.  But  unfor- 
tunately, Mallory,  though  possessed  by  a  strong  de- 
sire to  be  a  great  reasoner,  had  only  a  semi-logical 
mind.  The  consequences  were  lamentable.  His 
principles,  as  he  called  them,  proved  but  ignes-fatui, 
which  led  him  away  from  the  great  highway  of 
truth  into  the  wilderness  of  error,  —  convenient  dis- 
guises assumed  by  Satan  to  lure  him  to  destruction. 

It  can  be  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  every  day 
found  him  engaged  in  some  new  vagary.  The  last 
was  the  wildest  of  all.  He  laid  it  down  as  a  fact 
not  to  be  controverted,  that  our  ancestors  obtained 
possession  of  this  country  by  fraud  arid  murder. 
He  thought  the  receiver  as  bad  as  the  thief,  and  one 
that  would  profit  by  murder  as  bad  as  the  murderer. 
He  came,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion,  that  all  who  oc- 
cupied lands  which  were  originally  obtained  by  fraud 
and  murder  were  themselves  guilty  of  fraud  and 
murder.  He  had  shared  in  the  unholy  spoil,  but  he 
would  partake  of  it  no  longer,  either  directly  or  indi- 


THEORY    AND    PRACTICE.  73 

rectly.  He  had  renounced  houses  and  lands  him- 
self; he  would  now  refuse  to  receive  any  sustenance 
or  support  whatever  from  the  occupants  of  the  pol- 
luted soil  of  the  country.  He  resolved  to  leave  it  for 
ever. 

He  sought,  but  sought  in  vain,  for  any  conveyance 
by  which  he  could  escape,  without  violating  the 
principles  which  he  had  adopted  as  his  rule  of  action. 
Either  the  ships  in  which  he  thought  to  embark  were 
owned  by  wicked  men,  or  were  bound  on  some  sin- 
ful voyage  ;  or  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  country,  he 
would  be  obliged  to  do  something  by  which  he 
should  recognize  the  validity  and  propriety  of  a  civil 
government  which  relied  upon  war  for  its  defence, 
Finding  himself  thus  hedged  in  by  his  sovereign 
principles  of  truth,  so  that  he  could  turn  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left  without  committing  sin,  he  wandered 
away  to  the  sea-coast,  that  being  the  very  verge  of 
the  polluted  land  from  which  he  wished  to  escape  ; 
and  there,  seating  himself  on  the  brow  of  an  over- 
hanging cliff,  he  darkly  mused  on  himself  and  on 
the  unhappy  world  in  which  he  was  placed.  The 
land-breeze  bore  to  him  the  scent  of  flowers  and  of 
new-mown  hay ;  but  to  him  it  seemed  the  rank 
effluvia  of  corruption.  The  stars  were  shining  in 
the  clear  sky,  and  the  moon  was  just  rising  from  her 
ocean-bed  j  but  their  mild  glances  bore  no  heavenly 
message  to  his  heart.  To  him  they  appeared  to 
glare  in  fiery  wrath  on  the  iniquitous  world  below. 
He  could  not  bear  to  look  at  them  ;  they  seemed  to 
consume  the  very  soul  within. 
7 


74  THEORY    AND    PRACTICE. 

His  gaze  fell  upon  the  ocean.  Unrippled  by  the 
light  fanning  of  the  land  wind,  it  was  calm  and 
smooth  as  glass  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Its 
bosom  rose  and  fell  regularly,  like  the  young  breast 
of  a  lovely  maiden  in  a  deep  and  placid  sleep.  The 
radiant  fires  of  heaven  and  the  distant  blaze  of  the 
light-house  flashed  brokenly  from  its  surface  in  long 
lines  of  undulating  light.  It  presented  to  his  wea- 
ry spirit  a  picture  of  rest  and  peace.  And  tossed 
and  worn  indeed  must  his  mind  have  been,  when 
the  never-resting  ocean  seemed  peaceful  in  compari- 
son. Only  when  it  touched  the  accursed  land  on 
which  he  stood  did  it  arouse  itself  from  its  slum- 
bers, and  thunder  forth  its  indignation  and  wrath. 

Up  to  this  period,  amidst  all  his  vagaries,  Mr.  Mai- 
lory  had  been  in  some  measure  a  sane  man  ;  but  the 
balance  of  his  mind  was  now  irretrievably  lost.  Be- 
hind him  lay  the  depraved  and  vicious  earth  ;  above 
him  from  the  countless  eyes  of  heaven  glared  Al- 
mighty wrath  ;  below  him  was  peace  and  rest.  His 
brain  whirled  ;  he  leaped  from  the  cliff,  and  plunged 
into  the  waves  below.  He  perished,  a  victim  to  a 
false  system  of  morals  and  philosophy. 


ALISON'S    HISTORY   OF    EUROPE* 


THIS  work,  originally  published  in  Great  Britain 
at  the  price  of  fifty  dollars,  has  been  republished  in 
the  United  States,  entire,  for  four  dollars,  and  an 
abridgment  for  the  use  of  schools  has  been  issued  at 
the  low  price  of  one  dollar.  Both  of  these  reprints 
have,  we  believe,  been  extensively  circulated  in  this 
country,  and,  for  good  or  for  evil,  will  work  an  effect 
on  the  minds  and  hearts  of  our  people.  Therefore  a 
few  remarks,  founded  upon  the  early  Edinburgh 
edition,  may  not  at  this  time  be  amiss.  It  would 
occupy  more  time  and  space  than  we  can  command, 
regularly  to  review  this  great  work  ;  —  great,  certain- 
ly, in  material  volume,  as  well  as  in  the  events  of 
which  it  treats ;  great,  also,  in  several  other  points 
of  view  from  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to  ob- 
serve it. 

The  first  feature  which  attracts  attention  is  the 
frequency  of  typographical  errors,  and  slips  of  the 
pen.  We  are  tempted  to  think  that  the  author  nev- 
er corrected  his  proof-sheets.  We  read  of  the  "  Ba- 
varian Republic "  (intended  to  be  Batavian) ;  and 

*  Published  in  the  Christian  Examiner,  for  January,  1845. 


76 

very  often  find  "  Russia "  and  "  Prussia "  each  in 
place  of  the  other.  The  good  old  English  word 
"nowise  "  our  author  never  uses,  but  in  its  place  em- 
ploys such  expressions  as  "no  way,"  "noways," 
and  "  no  ways,"  which  occur  so  frequently  as  to  dis- 
figure almost  every  third  page  of  his  work.  His 
statistical  figures,  as  well  as  his  figures  of  speech, 
often  exhibit  discrepancies  and  contradictions ;  and, 
in  following  out  his  generally  good  descriptions  of 
military  movements,  the  reader  sometimes  finds 
himself  on  the  wrong  bank  of  a  river,  and  before  he 
can  advance  another  line  in  the  narrative,  is  obliged 
to  make  whole  divisions  and  battalions  move  about 
and  change  places  with  a  celerity  which  even  Bona- 
parte himself  might  have  envied.  The  numerous 
contradictions  which  appear  in  this  voluminous 
work,  alike  in  matters  of  philosophy,  of  fact,  and  of 
opinion,  —  taken  in  connection  with  the  familiar 
sound  of  many  passages, — have  suggested  the  no- 
tion, that  this  "  History  "  is  chiefly  made  up  of  polit- 
ical articles  from  Mr.  Alison's  pen,  which  have  ap- 
peared at  various  times  in  the  British  Reviews,  and 
which  the  author  has  tacked  together,  with  little  or 
no  collation,  and  published  as  one  work.  But,  upon 
a  more  careful  examination,  we  find  that  even  this 
hypothesis  fails  to  account  for  the  frequency  of  the 
discrepancies  which  continually  startle  the  reader ; 
for  the  author  sometimes  utters  a  sentiment  on  one 
page  which  he  contradicts  on  the  next ;  and  this  has 
induced  us  to  extend  our  supposition  so  as  to  include 
even  the  newspaper  articles  of  Mr.  Alison  in  our  fan- 


ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  77 

cied  list  of  his  materials.  Thus  the  whole  work  is 
like  a  confused  heap  of  stones ;  not  a  solid  pyramid, 
built  by  a  master- workman. 

Mr.  Alison  is  a  superlative  Tory,  with  many  of 
the  virtues,  and  most  of  the  faults,  of  that  character. 
He  is  a  rank  aristocrat  in  all  his  feelings,  and  takes 
every  opportunity  to  flatter  the  nobility  of  Great 
Britain,  with  which  he  is  connected  by  blood  or  mar- 
riage. He  belongs  to  the  worthy  old  Scotch  nation, 
which  any  one  might  guess,  for  he  never  lets  slip, 
unimproved,  an  opportunity  of  lauding  Scotch 
troops,  Scotch  generals,  and  Scotch  lords,  or  even 
any  foreigner  of  Scottish  descent,  however  remote. 
His  praises  may  be  well  merited,  — we  are  inclined  to 
think  that  they  are ;  but  while  liberal  to  the  Scotch, 
he  overlooks  the  merits  of  the  English  and  Irish,  as 
such,  can  hardly  find  it  in  his  heart  to  be  just  to  a 
Frenchman,  and  is  absolutely  unjust  to  Americans. 
Russia  seems  to  be  his  model  government,  and  he 
thinks  remarkably  well  of  Austria.  Great  Britain 
under  the  Tories  is  glorious,  but  under  Whig  gov- 
ernment is  almost  contemptible. 

Slavery  is  a  favorite  hobby  with  our  author,  and 
(we  were  about  to  say)  he  has  ridden  it  to  death ;  — 
would  that  he  had !  But  no,  his  whole  object  is 
to  resuscitate  and  reinvigorate  the  dying  monster. 
Russian  serfdom  he  thinks  an  admirable  institution. 
He  says,  that  no  people  ever  arrived  at  freedom  and 
happiness  except  through  slavery,  and  that  none  ever 
can  !  He  thinks  that  the  Irish  would  be  better  off,  if 
they  could  only  been  slaved  during  a  couple  of  cen- 
7* 


78  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE. 

turies  ;  it  would  fit  them  for  freedom  !  He  forgets, 
however,  to  tell  us  how  it  is  that  the  Cossacks,  who 
never  were  enslaved,  are  so  happy,  substantially  free, 
and  well  off  in  worldly  respects,  as  he  represents 
them.  Rude  plenty,  courage,  and  loyalty,  with  an 
extra  allowance  of  the  private  virtues,  are  theirs,  — 
all  that  a  Tory  like  himself  could  desire  in  a  people  ; 
yet,  up  to  their  remotest  ancestry,  they  have  never 
been  slaves.  The  mass  of  Russian  rustics,  he  informs 
us,  are  below  the  Cossacks  ;  yet,  if  slavery  be  such  an 
excellent  thing  to  elevate  a  people,  they  ought  to  be 
far  above  them.  Thousands  of  years  of  slavery  on 
one  side,  and  an  equal  duration  of  freedom  on  the 
other,  have  produced  effects  fatal  to  his  theory. 
He  laments  West  India  emancipation,  and,  regard- 
less of  the  quiet  demeanour  and  general  advancement 
of  the  blacks,  he  measures  the  comparative  blessings 
of  slavery  and  freedom  by  the  number  of  hogsheads 
of  sugar  which  can  be  spared  for  exportation.  The 
proverbial  hardships  to  which  the  negroes  were  sub- 
ject in  the  cultivation  of  cane  and  the  manufacture  of 
sugar,  under  the  ancient  regime,  are  sufficient  to  ac- 
count for  their  dislike  to  that  employment  in  a  state 
of  freedom,  and  for  much  of  the  consequent  deficit 
in  the  export.  The  remainder  may  be  charged  to 
the  increased  consumption  of  sugar  by  the  blacks 
themselves.  While  slaves,  they  consumed  no  more 
sugar  than  they  could  manage  to  steal.  Moreover, 
by  means  of  the  lash,  the  blacks  were  compelled  to 
do  vastly  more  work  than  nature  ever  intended  that 
man  should  perform  in  hot  climates,  where  little 


79 

clothing  is  needed,  and  the  earth  produces  the  sub- 
sistence of  the  inhabitants  almost  spontaneously. 
What  wonder  that  nature  asserted  her  supremacy, 
when  the  unnatural  forcing  system  was  abandoned  ? 
Does  Mr.  Alison  mean  to  say  that  it  is  right  for 
Great  Britain  to  enslave  nine  tenths  of  the  popula- 
tion of  her  tropical  colonies,  and  set  the  other  tenth 
over  them  as  drivers,  in  order  that  absent  proprietors 
may  live  in  splendor  in  England  ;  that  a  large  mer- 
cantile marine  may  be  built  up ;  that  the  profits  of 
manufacturers  may  be  increased  ;  and,  finally,  that 
through  all  these  means  the  revenues  of  government 
may  be  augmented ;  which  revenues  would  go  chiefly 
towards  supporting  the  aristocracy  and  the  younger 
sons  of  the  nobility  of  Great  Britain?  Can  such 
ends,  however  good  Mr.  Alison  may  think  them,  jus- 
tify such  means  ?  If  so,  then  let  it  be  proclaimed  that 
power  gives  right ;  this  would  simplify  the  code  of 
morals  greatly.  If  not,  then  let  Mr.  Alison  expunge 
from  his  next  edition  all  the  fine  moral  and  religious 
observations  which  he  is  continually  parading  before 
his  readers.  For  one  thing,  however,  we  thank  him. 
In  treating  of  the  propriety  and  expediency  of 
slavery,  he  makes  no  distinction  of  color.  He  is  too 
philosophical  for  that.  He  desires  not  to  limit  the 
benefit  of  his  favorite  institution  to  blacks ;  but  is 
willing  to  commit  to  its  beneficent  influences  Rus- 
sians, and  Irishmen,  and,  we  infer,  Englishmen, 
Americans,  and  Frenchmen.  Yet,  strange  to  say, 
notwithstanding  this,  and  although  he  elsewhere 
stigmatizes  as  shallow  those  who  condemn  the 


80 

Americans,  he  twits  us  repeatedly  with  the  inconsis- 
tency of  slaveholding.  The  sneer  may  be  deserved, 
but  it  comes  with  an  ill  grace  from  him. 

Mr.  Alison  is  never  weary  of  telling  us  that  the 
welfare  of  the  people  depends  upon  the  existence  of 
a  landed  aristocracy.  He  glories  in  the  fact  that 
England  has  but  three  hundred  thousand  landed  pro- 
prietors, and  laments  that  France,  in  consequence  of 
the  Revolution,  has  six  millions.  He  thinks,  that,  in 
consequence  of  this  fact,  she  can  never  be  free,  and 
dooms  her  in  perpetuity  to  an  Oriental  despotism. 
Doubtless  France  must  suffer  a  long  while  for  the 
crimes  of  the  Revolution ;  the  great  change  in  the 
proprietorship  of  landed  possessions  was  too  sudden 
and  violent  not  to  produce  temporary  evil.  A  few 
generations  will  settle  this  matter,  and  when  France 
is  fit  to  be  free,  the  subdivision  of  estates  will 
not  prevent  her  being  so ;  nor  will  it,  we  think, 
greatly  retard  the  approach  of  that  happy  day,  if,  in- 
deed, it  do  not  hasten  it.  Strangely  enough,  in  con- 
tradiction to  his  general  opinions  and  arguments  on 
this  subject,  he  depicts  Tyrol  as  almost  an  Elysium ; 
dwells  with  enthusiasm  on  the  religion,  morality, 
substantial  freedom,  inflexible  loyalty,  and  rustic 
plenty  of  the  inhabitants ;  and  doubtless  his  encomi- 
ums are  well  deserved,  for  he  has  in  person  minutely 
examined  that  country.  Bat,  almost  in  the  same 
breath,  he  informs  his  readers  that  in  the  Tyrol  a 
state  of  almost  absolute  equality  exists  ;  there  are 
few  large  proprietors,  and  the  land  is  minutely  sub- 
divided ! 


81 

For  the  anecdotes  which  Alison  has  interspersed 
through  his  work  concerning  Napoleon  and  his  gen- 
erals he  has  manifestly  often  no  other  authority  than 
mere  gossip.  The  best  French  authorities  have  ex- 
ploded, long  since,  some  of  the  very  romantic  and 
very  absurd  stories,  which  he  notwithstanding  grave- 
ly relates  as  matters  of  history.  And  sometimes, 
too,  where  the  tale  has  some  foundation  in  truth,  the 
time  and  scene  are  so  changed  by  the  author  of  this 
"  History  "  as  utterly  to  confound  the  reader.  He 
makes  Napoleon  utter  at  Dresden,  in  1813,  a  re- 
proach to  his  generals  and  marshals  for  their  luke- 
warmness,  which  in  fact  was  spoken  in  Poland,  in 
1812,  when,  with  nearly  half  a  million  of  men,  he 
was  on  the  point  of  invading  Russia.  And,  worse 
still,  he  makes  Napoleon  address  Rapp,  who  was  in 
fact,  as  we  are  elsewhere  informed,  at  that  moment 
shut  up  in  Dantzic,  hundreds  of  miles  away.  Un- 
doubtedly these  errors  are  to  be  charged  to  careless- 
ness, not  to  ignorance.  But  when  he  comes  to  deal 
in  the  affairs  of  America,  we  are  obliged  to  suppose 
that  both  causes  have  combined  to  produce  that 
"  Comedy  of  Errors,"  —  his  chapter  on  the  United 
States. 

Numerous  as  are  the  anachronisms,  slips  of  the 
pen,  and  typographical  errors  in  that  portion  of  the 
work  devoted  to  European  affairs,  they  are  as  noth- 
ing, compared  with  the  blunders  contained  in  his 
chapter  on  America  and  the  American  war.  It 
seems  to  us  that  Mr.  Alison  is  better  fitted  for  a 
party  politician,  a  warrior,  or  a  poet,  than  for  an  his- 


82 

torian,  or,  as  he  often  assumes  to  be,  a  preacher  of  re- 
ligion and  morality.  He  seems  to  have  a  tolerably 
correct  eye  for  military  affairs,  the  reader  is  left 
in  no  doubt  with  regard  to  his  political  partisan- 
ship, and  no  one  who  has  perused  his  remarks  on 
America  will  hesitate  to  award  him  high  rank  among 
the  prose  poets  of  the  nineteenth  century.  He  is  so 
given  to  idealizing,  that  the  reality  is  often  entirely 
lost  sight  of.  The  following  extract  is  a  favorable 
specimen  of  his  style  of  poetical  description.  With 
a  few  touches  of  his  pen,  our  author  has  entirely  an- 
nihilated those  scourges  of  the  mariner  in  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  the  tempestuous  "  northers  "  of  winter 
and  the  devastating  hurricanes  of  summer.  But,  to 
compensate  for  this,  he  bestows  the  West  India 
Islands  upon  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  makes  grapes 
very  convenient  to  sailors.  Doubtless  Jack  will  be 
exceedingly  grateful  for  the  change. 

"  In  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  the  extraordinary  clearness  of 
the  water  reveals  to  the  astonished  mariner  the  magnitude 
of  its  abysses,  and  discloses,  even  at  the  depth  of  thirty 
fathoms,  the  gigantic  vegetation  which,  even  so  far  beneath 
the  surface,  is  drawn  forth  by  the  attraction  of  a  vertical 
sun.  In  the  midst  of  these  glassy  waves,  rarely  disturbed 
by  a  ruder  breath  than  the  zephyrs  of  spring,  an  archipela- 
go of  perfumed  islands  is  placed,  which  repose,  like  baskets 
of  flowers,  on  the  tranquil  surface  of  the  ocean.  Every 
thing  in  those  enchanted  abodes  appears  to  have  been  pre- 
pared for  the  wants  and  enjoyments  of  man.  Nature  seems 
to  have  superseded  the  ordinary  necessity  for  labor.  The 
verdure  of  the  groves,  and  the  colors  of  the  flowers  and 
blossoms,  derive  additional  vividness  from  the  transparent 


ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  83 

purity  of  the  air  and  the  deep  serenity  of  the  azure  heavens. 
Many  of  the  trees  are  loaded  with  fruits,  which  descend  by 
their  own  weight  to  invite  the  indolent  hand  of  the  gatherer, 
and  are  perpetually  renewed  under  the  influence  of  an  ever 
balmy  air.  Others,  which  yield  no  nourishment,  fascinate 
the  eye  by  the  luxuriant  variety  of  their  form  or  the  gor- 
geous brilliancy  of  their  colors.  Amidst  a  forest  of  per- 
fumed citron-trees,  spreading  bananas,  graceful  palms,  of 
wild-figs,  of  round-leaved  myrtles,  of  fragrant  acacias,  and 
gigantic  arbutus,  are  to  be  seen  every  variety  of  creepers, 
with  scarlet  or  purple  blossoms,  which  entwine  themselves 
round  every  stem,  and  hang  in  festoons  from  tree  to  tree. 
The  trees  are  of  a  magnitude  unknown  in  northern  climes ; 
the  luxuriant  vines,  as  they  clamber  up  the  loftiest  cedars, 
form  graceful  festoons  ;  grapes  are  so  plenty  upon  every 
shrub,  that  the  surge  of  the  ocean,  as  it  lazily  rolls  in  upon 
the  shore  with  the  quiet  winds  of  summer,  dashes  its  spray 
upon  the  clusters  ;  and  natural  arbours  form  an  impervious 
shade,  that  not  a  ray  of  the  sun  of  July  can  penetrate."  — 
Vol.  x.  p.  553,  first  edition. 

In  describing  the  United  States  geographically, 
(for  which  the  reader  may  judge,  from  the  foregoing 
specimen,  how  well  our  author  is  qualified,)  he  rep- 
resents the  Alleghany  Mountains  as  being  covered, 
among  other  trees,  with  "  the  majestic  palm  "  and 
"verdant  evergreen  oak."  The  inhabitants  of  that 
region  will  be  greatly  astonished  at  this  information, 
and  doubtless  will  appreciate  the  importance  of  the 
discovery  that  evergreens  are  verdant. 

We  have  always  thought,  that,  as  the  Missouri  is 
the  main  branch  of  the  Mississippi,  the  two  should 
be  considered  as  one  river,  and  spoken  of  under  one 


84  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE. 

name.  But,  until  the  change  is  made  by  competent 
authority,  we  must  continue  to  use  the  received  geo- 
graphical nomenclature.  Mr.  Alison  makes  no  pro- 
test against  the  use  of  the  customary  terms,  and  is, 
therefore,  entirely  inexcusable  in  jumbling  together, 
in  such  inextricable  confusion,  the  names  of  our  two 
great  rivers.  He  makes  the  Missouri  empty  into  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  represents  the  Mississippi  as 
one  of  its  branches ;  in  company  with  "  the  Ohio,  the 
Tennessee,  the  Arkansas,  the  White  River,  the  Kan- 
sas, and  the  Red  River  "  ;  which  three  latter  rivers 
(as  well  as  the  four  former),  he  says,  "  have  given 
their  names  to  the  mighty  States  which  already  are 
settled  on  their  shores." 

He  speaks  repeatedly  of  New  England  as  a  State, 
thus  :  "  the  two  States  of  New  England  and  Massa- 
chusetts." He  seems  to  think  that  Louisiana  is  in 
Virginia ;  for,  after  describing  the  new-made  lands 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  he  observes,  —  "and 
at  length,  on  the  scene  of  former  desolation,  the 
magnificent  riches  of  the  Yirginian  forest  are  reared." 
He  might  as  well  have  said,  "  the  Mexican  forest." 

A  striking  instance  of  the  recklessness  with  which 
Mr.  Alison  often  makes  assertions,  and  of  the  unphil- 
osophical  manner  in  which  he  frequently  establishes 
a  general  rule  from  an  exception,  is  found  in  the  fol- 
lowing extract. 

"  The  law  allows  any  rate  of  interest  agreed  on  by  the 
parties  to  be  taken,  and  it  is  often  excessive  ;  one  per  cent. 
a  month  is  an  usual,  three  per  cent,  a  month  no  uncommon 
occurrence."  —  Vol.  x.  p.  580. 


85 

Now  the  first  portion  of  this  allegation  is  wholly 
false,  and  the  second  is  true  only  of  a  short  period. 
If  Mr.  Alison  were  writing  at  the  present  time,  he 
might  with  equal  truth  declare,  as  a  general  rule, 
that  "  in  the  United  States  interest  is  very  low  ; 
four  and  one  half  per  cent,  per  annum  is  a  usual, 
three  per  cent,  no  uncommon  occurrence.'7 

A  certain  portion  of  our  population  will  be  glad  to 
learn,  that,  in  this  country,  "a  widow  with  eight 
children  is  sought  after  and  married  as  an  heiress  "  ; 
and  all  will  be  astounded  at  the  credulity  or  men- 
dacity of  the  soi-disant  historian  who  declares  that 
in  America  "  even  family  portraits,  pictures  of  be- 
loved parents,  are  often  not  framed,  as  it  is  well  un- 
derstood, that,  at  the  death  of  the  head  of  the  family, 
they  will  be  sold  and  turned  into  dollars,  to  be  di- 
vided among  the  children."  And  this  is  history  ! 

Our  "  common  sailors "  will  be  happy  to  learn 
that  their  wages  are  raised  to  "four  or  five  pounds  a 
month  " ;  and  our  Democrats  surprised  to  hear  that 
"it  is  generally  made  an  indispensable  pledge,  with 
every  representative  on  the  [Democratic]  side,  that 
he  is  to  support  the  system  of  'repudiation,'  and  re- 
lieve the  people  of  the  disagreeable  burden  of  pay- 
ing their  debts."  The  election  for  President,  he 
says,  takes  place  on  the  4th  of  March ;  and  he  seems 
to  have  strange  notions  with  regard  to  the  Veto 
power ;  for  he  declares  that  "  the  President  can 
refuse  his  sanction  to  the  laws,  but,  by  a  singular  an- 
omaly, though  that  prevents  their  execution,  it  does 
not  prevent  them  from  being  laws,  and  carried  into 
8 


86  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE. 

effect,  when  a  more  pliant  chief  of  the  republic  is 
elected."  It  is  impossible  to  make  any  thing  but 
nonsense  of  this  passage  ;  if  he  means  as  he  has 
written,  then  he  has  put  forth  an  absurdity ;  if  he 
means,  that,  at  a  future  time,  under  a  new  President, 
Congress  may  repass  a  rejected  act,  and  the  new 
Executive  may  approve  it  and  put  it  in  force,  then 
he  errs  in  calling  that  an  "anomaly"  which  may 
take  place  in  England  or  France  at  any  time  after 
a  change  in  the  ministry.  Our  President  occupies  a 
position  in  some  respects  similar  to  that  of  the  Eng- 
lish Premier,  and  all  the  incumbents  of  the  Execu- 
tive chair  are  not  bound  to  "  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  their  illustrious  predecessors,"  although  Mr.  Ali- 
son seems  to  think  it  an  anomaly  that  they  are  not. 
Equally  without  foundation  in  truth  is  our  author's 
assertion,  that  "  that  noblest  of  spectacles,  which  is 
so  often  exhibited  in  England,  of  a  resolute  minor- 
ity, strong  in  the  conviction  and  intrepid  in  the 
assertion  of  truth,  firmly  maintaining  its  opinions  in 
the  midst  of  the  insurgent  waves  of  an  overwhelm- 
ing majority,  is  unknown  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic."  With  what  propriety  is  the  term  "insur- 
gent waves  "  applied  to  a  legally  ruling  majority  ? 
And  if  the  Americans  do,  in  a  political  sense,  so 
"crouch  to  numbers"  and  "feign  acquiescence,"  as 
Mr.  Alison  represents,  then  how  is  it  that  our 
frequent  political  changes,  State  and  national,  are 
brought  about  ?  The  former  question  indicates  a 
ruling  propensity  in  Mr.  Alison  to  use  high-sounding 
words  without  regard  to  their  meaning,  and  the  lat- 


87 

ter  points  out  another  instance  of  his  recklessness  in 
assertion,  and  his  wholesale  mode  of  generalization. 
The  scenes  presented  in  the  halls  of  Congress  are 
sufficiently  disgraceful,  and  we  blush  for  our  country 
when  we  think  of  them ;  but  our  author  never  lets 
a  good  piece  of  national  slander  pass  from  his  pen 
without  additions  and  corrections.  According  to 
him,  "murders  and  assassinations  in  open  day  are 
not  unfrequent  among  the  members  of  Congress 
themselves  •  and  the  guilty  parties,  if  strong  in  the 
support  of  the  majority,  openly  walk  about,  and  set 
all  attempts  to  prosecute  them  at  defiance."  Now, 
unless  our  memory  fails  us,  the  author  cannot  find  a 
solitary  instance  of  the  crimes  which  he  declares  to 
be  so  frequent.  "  All  the  State  judges,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  are  elected  by  the  people," 
says  Mr.  Alison,  —  another  sweeping  assertion,  which 
we  hope  may  not  prove  prophetic. 

Concerning   American    manners   Mr.    Alison    re- 
marks, very  judiciously :  — 

"The  manners  of  the  Americans  are  the  manners  of 
Great  Britain,  minus  the  aristocracy,  the  land-owners,  the 

army  and   the    Established    Church." "  They  are 

vain  on  all  national  subjects,  and  excessively  sensitive  to 

censure,  however  slight,  and  most  of  all  to  ridicule." 

"  The  Americans  have  already  done  great  things ;  when 
they  have  continued  a  century  longer  in  the  same  career, 
they  will,  like  the  English,  be  a  proud,  and  cease  to  be  a 
vain  people."  — Vol.  x.  pp.  628,  629. 

This  is  all  true,  and  Alison  is  doubtless  correct 
when  he  sarcastically  compares  us  with  "  those  class- 


es  or  individuals  who  have  not  historic  descent  or 
great  personal  achievements  or  qualities  to  rest  upon, 
and  who,  desirous  of  general  applause,  have  a  secret 
sense  that  in  some  particular  they  may  be  unde- 
serving of  it."  He  has  likewise  represented  justly, 
though  strongly,  the  restless  activity  which  is  the 
prominent  feature  of  American  character. 

"  Every  thing  goes  on  at  the  gallop  ;  neither  society,  nor 
the  individuals  who  compose  it,  ever  pause  for  an  instant : 
new  undertakings  are  incessantly  commencing ;  new  paths 
of  life  continually  attempted  by  the  unfortunate  ;  successful 
industry  ardently  prosecuted  by  the  prosperous.  Projects 
of  philanthropy,  of  commerce,  of  canals,  of  railways,  of 
banking,  of  religious  and  social  amelioration,  succeed  one 
another  with  breathless  rapidity,"  etc.  —  Vol.  x.  p.  592. 

In  his  geographical  description  of  the  United 
States,  Mr.  Alison  makes  no  mention  of  the  great 
lakes,  although  two  are  entirely  within  our  border, 
and  we  have  at  least  an  equal  share  in  the  remain- 
der ;  but  when  he  comes  to  describe  Canada,  a  Brit- 
ish province,  he  is  never  weary  of  glorying  in  the 
magnificent  chain  of  great  lakes  which  he  seems  to 
think  are  exclusively  within  its  boundaries.  So 
enraptured  does  he  become  in  contemplating  Canada, 
that  he  predicts  she  will  one  day  conquer  the  United 
States;  or,  in  his  own  words,  " assert  the  wonted 
superiority  of  Northern  over  Southern  nations." 
Perhaps  she  may ;  but  neither  Alison  nor  any  one  else 
can  know  any  thing  of  the  matter.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  British  "  vanity  "  ;  nothing  else  could  have 
induced  our  author  to  print  this  bellicose  suggestion. 


ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  89 

Although  Mr.  Alison  has  sufficient  reason,  as  a 
military  historian,  to  be  proud  of  the  soldiers  and 
sailors  of  his  country,  he  is  not  satisfied  with  pure 
truth,  but  falls  into  the  same  one-sided  mode  of 
relating  battles  which  is  so  common  among  our  own 
writers  and  orators.  He  always  represents  circum- 
stances to  be  favorable  to  the  Americans  and  un- 
favorable to  the  British,  in  order  to  palliate  British 
defeat  or  enhance  British  glory.  By  way  of  giving 
advice  to  the  British  government,  he  does  state,  con- 
cerning the  action  between  the  Chesapeake  and 
Shannon,  that  the  latter  was  manned  by  a  picked 
crew,  more  numerous  than  usual,  who  had  long 
been  trained  by  Captain  Broke  for  the  very  purpose 
of  doing  what  had  never  yet  been  performed,  —  cap- 
turing an  American  frigate.  But  he  neglects  to  state, 
what  is  equally  well  known,  that  the  Chesapeake 
had  an  inexperienced  crew,  just  shipped,  many  of 
whom  had  never  been  at  sea.  He  is  still  more  un- 
fair in  his  account  of  the  capture,  by  a  squadron  of 
British  frigates,  of  the  frigate  President,  which  he 
coolly  declares  was  fairly  beaten  by  a  single  frigate, 
the  Endymion.  It  is  well  known  that  this  same 
victorious  frigate  was  so  roughly  handled  as  to  be 
obliged  to  fall  back  out  of  reach  of  the  President, 
who  could  not  stop  to  take  possession  of  her,  but 
continued  her  flight  in  her  crippled  condition  until 
she  was  overtaken  by  a  fresh  frigate  of  the  enemy. 
Because  one  or  two  broadsides  from  this  new  antag- 
onist sufficed  to  bring  down  the  stars  and  stripes, 
Mr.  Alison  sagely  concludes  that  the  President  was 


90  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OP  EUROPE. 

beaten  before,  or  she  would  not  have  surrendered  so 
soon  to  her  new  enemy.  He  seems  to  think  that  an 
American  frigate  ought  to  be  able  to  beat,  in  detail, 
a  whole  British  squadron,  without  being  crippled 
herself,  and  that  she  should  be  able  to  commence 
each  successive  action  with  undiminished  forces  ;  and 
he  makes  no  account  of  the  remainder  of  the  British 
squadron,  which  was  pressing  all  sail  to  come  into 
action.  Really,  for  Mr.  Alison  to  boast  of  the  result 
of  this  battle  must  to  most  minds  only  demonstrate 
to  what  straits  he  was  driven  to  find  material,  in  the 
naval  encounters  of  the  war,  with  which  to  soothe 
wounded  British  vanity.  For  ourselves,  we  should 
not,  in  this  review,  have  noticed  these  instances  of 
our  author's  unfairness,  were  it  not  to  add  one  or  two 
more  items  to  the  proof  we  have  already  adduced, 
that  he  is  unworthy  of  the  confidence  which  should 
be  bestowed  upon  an  accurate  and  impartial  histo- 
rian. Alison  is  not  an  historian,  but  a  partisan  polit- 
ical writer. 

It  is  to  be  presumed  that  Mr.  Alison  is  more  to 
be  depended  upon  in  his  European  chapters  than  in 
that  portion  of  his  work  devoted  to  America,  in  pre- 
paring himself  for  which  he  apparently  spent  but 
little  time,  and  of  the  blunders  contained  in  which 
we  have  given  the  reader  a  very  few  of  the  many 
specimens  which  might  be  gathered.  But,  if  some 
of  his  European  critics  tell  the  truth,  he  is  not  trust- 
worthy even  in  European  affairs.  He  has  himself 
acknowledged  numerous  errors  in  his  early  editions, 
by  lately  publishing  a  new  one,  "  revised  and  cor- 


91 

reeled."  Now  it  is  certainly  better  to  correct  errors 
than  to  allow  them  to  remain  uncorrected ;  but  it 
would  be  better  still,  more  dignified  and  faithful,  be- 
sides being  more  just  to  those  who  purchase  the 
books  and  imbibe  the  errors,  to  see  that  none  are  put 
forth.  Errors  are  not  easily  removed  from  the 
mind,  when  once  imbibed.  How  many  of  Mr.  Ali- 
son's first  readers — those  who  first  patronized  his 
work,  and  set  him  up  in  the  world  as  an  historian 
—  will  ever  peruse  his  corrected  edition  ?  One  does 
not  often  read  twice  over  ten  octavo  volumes  of  from 
eight  hundred  to  a  thousand  pages  each.  Mr.  Alison 
puts  forth  hastily,  while  yet  in  a  crude  state,  the 
first  volume  of  a  "  History  of  Europe,"  so  called, 
and,  like  the  modern  serial  novel-writer,  hurries  vol- 
ume after  volume  before  the  public  in  an  equally 
uncorrected  state,  to  take  advantage  of  the  interest 
which  his  former  volumes  may  have  excited.  Cer- 
tain friends,  acquaintances,  and  gullible  individuals 
among  the  public,  purchase  his  first  edition  as  it 
comes  out,  volume  by  volume.  From  them  he  re- 
ceives his  first  encouragement,  by  them  he  is  first 
made  known  to  the  world.  When  he  has  finished 
his  work,  and  drawn  fifty  dollars  apiece  from  the 
pockets  of  the  said  friends,  acquaintances,  and  gulli- 
ble individuals,  he  finds  leisure  to  do  what  should 
have  been  done  before  publication,  namely,  to  revise 
and  amend  his  manuscript,  and  correct  his  proof- 
sheets.  A  new  and  ostensibly  perfect  edition  appears, 
with  which  the  remaining  portion  of  the  public  is 
supplied,  while  the  old  purchasers  are  left  with  ten 


92 

worthless  volumes  on  their  hands.  In  this  predic- 
ament stand  many  American  libraries  j  the  work, 
imported  at  an  exorbitant  price,  now  remains  on 
their  shelves  an  almost  useless  incumbrance.  For 
if  the  new  edition  be  what  it  purports  to  be,  (which 
is  greatly  to  be  doubted,)  if  it  is  to  become  a  stand- 
ard historical  work,  then  must  all  large  libraries  in 
Europe  and  America  be  furnished  with  copies  of  it, 
whether  they  possess  the  defective  edition  or  not. 
We  beg  leave  to  suggest  that  it  would  only  be  hon- 
est in  Mr.  Alison  to  make  the  offer  to  his  first  cus- 
tomers of  exchanging  the  old  for  the  new  edition. 

The  style  of  Mr.  Alison  is  ambitions,  high-sound- 
ing, but  often  empty,  very  unequal,  and  frequently 
decidedly  bad.  Long,  parenthetical  periods,  and 
even  un grammatical  sentences,  are  not  infrequent. 
Still,  there  is  an  air  of  pretension,  an  owl-like  grav- 
ity, and  a  pseudo-philosophic  and  religious  tone,  in 
his  wordy  periods,  which  appear  to  have  taken  the 
fancy  and  misled  the  judgment  of  many  worthy 
people.  But  he  frequently  contradicts  himself  in 
philosophy,  and  is  guilty  of  gross  inconsistencies  in 
morals  and  religion.  He  is  continually  holding  up 
the  idea,  that  in  national  affairs,  as  well  as  in  those 
of  individuals,  the  only  righteous  rule  of  conduct  is 
to  do  to  others  as  we  would  that  others  should  do  to 
us.  Yet  he  attempts  to  excuse,  almost  to  justify, 
the  transfer  of  Norway  to  Sweden,  —  her  hated  ene- 
my; and  declares,  without  qualification,  that  the 
British  government  committed  a  great  fault  in 
restoring  to  Holland  Java,  which  had  been  seized  at 


ALISON'S    HISTORY    OF    EUROPE. 


93 


a  time  when  Holland  was  sinking  under  the  yoke 
of  her  merciless  conqueror,  Napoleon.  The  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  and  several  other  colonies,  of  which 
Holland  was  robbed,  are  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
acquisitiveness  of  the  just,  honest,  and  religious  Mr. 
Alison.  England  should  have  kept  more  of  the 
property  of  her  unfortunate  ally,  whose  only  fault 
consisted  in  her  being  subdued  by  England's  enemy. 
Poor  Holland !  it  was  her  fate  to  be  plundered  alike 
by  friend  and  foe. 

The  religion,  morality,  philosophy,  and  politics  of 
Mr.  Alison,  as  a  public  writer,  all  seem  to  be  spuri- 
ous, and  this,  not  because  he  has  not  made  many  wise 
and  just  observations,  but  because  he  has  marred  their 
effect  by  attempting  to  reconcile  things  which  are 
irreconcilably  repugnant  to  each  other.  With  high- 
toned  principles  in  his  mouth,  he  yet  justifies  deeds 
which  were  enacted  in  defiance  of  all  principles,  save, 
perhaps,  these  two:  —  Might  makes  right;  and,  Do 
evil  that  good  may  come.  If  we  may  gather  his 
ideas  concerning  Christianity  and  Christ  from  an 
expression  used  in  his  chapter  on  India,  they  are 
low  indeed.  After  mentioning  the  various  hordes  of 
conquerors  who  had  overrun  India  previously  to  the 
advent  of  the  Europeans,  he  speaks  of  their  being 
followed  by  "the  disciplined  battalions  of  Christ." 
Disciplined  battalions  of  Christ !  Does  he  think,  if 
our  Saviour  were  to  return  bodily  to  the  world,  he 
would  put  himself  at  the  head  of  such  an  army,  and 
direct  their  movements  in  a  course  of  robbery  and 
bloodshed  ?  Does  he  think  that  the  spirit  of  Christ 


94 

filled  the  hearts  and  inspired  the  deeds  of  these 
"disciplined  battalions,"  which  he  thus  impiously 
designates  as  his  ? 

Mr.  Alison  is  a  conservative  in  the  worst  sense  of 
that  term.  Whatever  has  been  sanctioned  by  time, 
whether  right  or  wrong  in  itself,  he  upholds.  One 
instance  out  of  many  will  suffice  to  give  an  insight 
into  his  character  in  this  respect.  He  laments  the 
-destruction  of  the  " rotten  boroughs"  of  England. 
He  thinks  it  a  good  thing,  that  half  a  dozen  men,  or 
even  a  single  man,  should  have  had  power  to  send  a 
member  to  Parliament,  while  a  city  of  one  or  two 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants  could  do  no  more  ;  and 
his  only  argument  to  sustain  his  position  is,  The 
system  has  worked  well,  —  why  disturb  it?  Yery 
good,  so  long  as  the  nation  is  satisfied  with  it ;  but 
a  system  can  hardly  be  said  to  work  well,  when  it 
has  become  odious  to  nine  tenths  of  the  people. 
Yet  Mr.  Alison  laments  the  extinction  of  those 
sources  of  corruption,  the  "rotten  boroughs."  It 
is  a  principle  of  his,  the  violation  of  which  he  never 
excuses  in  a  government,  that  nothing  should  be 
yielded  to  popular  clamor.  He  would  grant  reform 
as  a  favor,  after  the  clamor  has  subsided,  but  never 
as  a  right.  The  government  should  never  acknowl- 
edge that  the  people  have  any  rights  but  those 
which  they  have  always  exercised.  He  disapproves 
even  of  the  measure  of  Catholic  emancipation. 
The  terrible  scenes  which  followed  the  concessions 
made  by  Louis  XVI.  to  the  democrats  of  France, 
and  which  he  thinks  were  consequent  thereon,  seem 


ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  95 

to  have  inspired  him  with  a  horror  which  allowed 
his  mind  no  rest  except  in  the  idea  of  a  strong  gov- 
ernment, right  or  wrong ;  right,  if  possible,  according 
to  his  notions,  but  strong  at  any  rate.  He  is  fre- 
quent in  his  praises  of  the  aristocrats,  but  has  never 
a  good  word  for  the  democrats  of  Great  Britain. 
Yet  justice  demands  that  we  should  say,  he  seems 
to  endeavour  to  be  impartial,  and  if  he  does  not  praise 
the  opposite,  he  often  condemns  his  own  party,  al- 
beit his  censures  are  generally  called  forth  by  their 
concessions  to  the  democratic  spirit  of  the  age. 
Democracy  is  his  bete  noir,  and  truly  the  aristocracy 
of  the  Old  World  have  some  reason  to  fear  it.  Such 
men  as  Mr  Alison,  even  on  account  of  their  ultra- 
conservatism,  do  good  in  the  world.  They  serve  to 
retard  the  otherwise  too  hasty  and  destructive  ad- 
vance of  the  said  black  beast,  to  prevent  his  ap- 
proach until  the  world  is  prepared  for  him,  —  when 
it  will  be  found  that  they  can  no  longer  interpose  an 
available  obstacle,  and  at  last  that  the  monster  is  not 
such  a  frightful  creature,  after  all,  as  they  imagined 
him  to  be.  Democracy  must  come ;  until  then,  we 
look  with  complacency  even  on  its  opposers,  though 
we  must  strive  against  them.  There  rises  before 
the  mind's  eye  a  picture  of  strife,  and  by  the  mental 
ear  sounds  of  anger  and  clamor  are  heard.  It  is  the 
lumbering  vehicle  of  Human  Society.  Mist  and 
darkness  surround  it ;  before  and  behind,  on  the  right 
and  on  the  left,  crowds  of  excited  people  are  tug- 
ging it  this  way  and  that.  Hardly  any  progress 
seems  to  be  made ;  the  different  parties  appear  to  be 


96  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE. 

more  engaged  in  quarrelling  with,  and  throwing 
stones  and  dirt  at,  each  other,  than  in  advancing  on 
their  common  journey.  Lament  it  not ;  there  is  a 
deep  ravine  in  front,  down  which,  were  the  old  om- 
nibus to  tumble,  it  would  be  dashed  to  pieces,  and 
need  reconstruction.  This  would  inevitably  be  its 
fate,  could  those  ahead  have  their  way  ;  but  those 
behind  are  so  busily  engaged  in  pelting  those  before, 
that  the  latter,  from  the  necessity  of  self-defence, 
pull  but  little ;  and,  meanwhile,  how  beautifully  that 
ravine  is  filled  up  by  the  falling  missiles  which  over- 
shoot their  mark  !  Do  those  before  see  this,  and 
thank  those  behind  ?  Do  those  behind  perceive  that 
they  are  thus  preparing  the  way  of  those  before  ? 
No,  the  success  of  society  depends  upon  their  mu- 
tual ignorance  and  antagonism.  Let  the  democrats 
cease  their  efforts,  and  the  world  will  stand  still,  or 
retrograde.  Let  the  aristocrats  arid  monarchists  sud- 
denly join  their  efforts  to  those  of  the  democrats, 
and  the  whole  will  rush  together  into  the  jaws  of 
destruction. 

Mr.  Alison's  picture  of  the  "  results  of  equality  in 
America  "  is  not,  however,  by  any  means  appalling, 
although  he  does  his  best  to  make  it  so,  by  com- 
paring some  of  these  results  with,  nay,  making  them 
"  exceed,  the  savage  atrocities  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion." In  his  concluding  paragraph  he  can  find 
nothing  tangible  to  charge,  as  the  "  results  "  of  de- 
mocracy in  America,  more  awful  than,  first,  that 
we  have  not  liberated  our  slaves ;  which  fact,  ac- 
cording to  his  principles,  ought  to  redound  wholly 


ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  97 

to  our  credit :  secondly,  that  our  government  did  not 
re-charter  the  United  States  Bank :  thirdly,  that  we 
talk  of  "  abolishing  the  national  debt  "  ;  a  statement 
entirely  untrue,  and  doubly  so  from  the  fact  that  we 
had  no  national  debt,  properly  speaking,  when  Mr. 
Alison  penned  this  passage  :  and,  lastly,  that  "  deeds, 
exceeding  in  cruelty  the  savage  atrocity  of  the 
French  Revolution,  have  been  perpetrated  in  many 
parts  of  the  United  States "  j  an  assertion  which 
must  be  taken  with  a  few  small  grains  of  allowance. 
Now  remove  from  this  list  those  charges  which 
might  be  made  against  any  monarchy,  and  those 
which  are  entirely  false,  and  what  remains?  Noth- 
ing but  the  charge  concerning  slavery,  which  we 
should  say  was  rather  a  "result,"  and  a  continuation 
of  inequality,  Quite  as  accurate  is  his  statement, 
that  President  Washington,  in  1794,  as  "  one  of  the 
last  acts  of  his  administration,  by  his  casting  vote  in 
Congress"  established  a  commercial  treaty  with 
England.  Mr.  Alison  cannot  have  read,  attentively, 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  ;  and  he  appears 
to  have  adopted  the  most  objectionable  portions  of 
the  generally  excellent  works  on  America  to  which 
he  refers  in  his  margin.  He  is  too  fond  of  declama- 
tion, and  of  generalization  from  insufficient  data,  to 
be  a  correct  writer. 

It  seems  to  us  that  our  author  deals  very  fairly 
with  Bonaparte ;  in  fact,  he  palliates  some  of  his 
crimes  which  appear  tp  us  to  be  worthy  only  of  ut- 
ter condemnation.  He  shows  also  much  impartiality 
in  criticizing  the  faults  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
9 


98 

—  evidently,  however,  in  pretty  much  the  same  man- 
ner in  which  an  astronomer  would  describe  the  ex- 
act size  and  number  of  the  spots  on  the  sun.  He  de- 
clares that  "  the  Duke  "  was  surprised  and  out-gen- 
eralled  by  Napoleon  previously  to  the  battle  of 
Waterloo ;  which  battle  he  won  only  by  his  indom- 
itable perseverance,  and  torrents  of  British  blood 
shed  by  others  to  expiate  his  fault.  Thus  only  was 
the  campaign  redeemed.  Wellington  had  a  narrow 
escape  ;  for,  had  he  been  compelled  to  order  a  retreat, 
the  defiles  in  his  rear  might  have  turned  it  into  an 
entire  overthrow  ;  in  which  case,  the  term  "  Waterloo 
defeat "  would  have  had  a  very  different  meaning,  in 
France  and  England,  from  that  which  it  now  bears. 

The  sum  and  substance  of  all  Mr.  Alison's  politi- 
cal philosophy  are  contained  in  the  following  sen- 
tence :  —  "  No  community  need  be  afraid  of  going 
far  astray,  which  treads  in  the  footsteps  of  Rome  and 
England."  What  the  " footsteps"  of  Rome  were, 
in  which  every  nation  should  follow  that  is  desirous 
of  not  "  going  far  astray,"  Mr.  Alison  tells  us  on  the 
very  next  page :  — "  To  the  surrounding  nations 
Rome  appeared  a  vast  fountain  of  evil,  always 
streaming  over,  yet  always  full,  from  which  devastat- 
ing floods  incessantly  issued,  to  overwhelm  and  de- 
stroy mankind.  We  may  judge  how  far  and  wide  it 
laid  waste  the  neighbouring  states,  from  the  nervous 
expression  which  Tacitus  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Caledonian  chief,  —  '  Ubi  solitudinem  fecerunt,  pa- 
cem  appellant ! '  " 

It  appears  to  us,  in  our  ignorance,  that  Mr.  Alison 


99 

is  a  sound  military  critic ;  and  we  also  deem  him  a 
good  financier,  and  a  tolerably  fair  political  partisan 
as  the  world  goes.  Had  he  confined  himself  to 
these  departments,  we  should  never  have  been  in- 
duced to  review  his  "  History."  We  like  his 
descriptions  of  battles  better  than  his  sermons;  he 
figures  with  much  more  credit  in  the  former  than  in 
the  latter,  though  he  seems  to  consider  preaching  his 
especial  forte.  His  father,  as  is  well  known,  was  a 
clergyman  ;  which  may  serve  to  explain  many  of  our 
author's  inconsistencies  concerning  ethics  and  religion. 
May  he  not  have  obtained  his  really  sound  morals  and 
religion  from  his  father's  fast-day  sermons,  and  after- 
wards marred  their  beautiful  proportions  by  placing 
in  contact  with  them  his  own  worldly  morality  and 
loose  philosophical  notions  ?  It  is  this  perpetual  in- 
consistency which  renders  Alison's  History  a  work 
of  peculiarly  pernicious  tendency.  The  apparently 
sound  philosophical  and  religious  views  which  it 
contains  serve  to  sweeten  and  disguise  the  poison 
with  which  they  are  mixed ;  the  respect  inspired  by 
the  former  has  induced  many  to  take  all  the  rest  on 
trust.  We  cannot  charge  Mr.  Alison  with  hypoc- 
risy ;  we  believe  him  to  be  sincere,  but  not 
thorough.  By  his  palliation  of  sin,  and  his  support 
of  established  abuses,  he  spoils  all  his  fine  sermon- 
izing. One  of  the  deadliest  thrusts  ever  made  at 
true  religion  is  delivered  by  Mr.  Alison,  in  his  con- 
stant attempt  to  hold  it  up  as  useful  chiefly  as  an 
instrument  of  political  government, — a  very  good 
thing  to  keep  the  people  orderly  and  obedient.  He 


100  ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE. 

has  no  faith  in  the  vitality  of  religion,  unless  she  is 
fed  from  the  government  crib,  —  no  trust  in  the  vol- 
untary system.  The  example  of  the  Irish  Catholics, 
who  support  their  own  Church-establishment  vol- 
untarily and  the  intrusive  Church  of  England  by 
compulsion,  and  the  experiment  of  the  Puritans  in 
New  England,  have  neither  of  them  any  weight 
with  Mr.  Alison.  In  truth,  he  denies  the  suc- 
cess of  the  latter  experiment.  With  him,  religion  is 
a  nonentity,  unless  it  be  government  religion.  He 
is  not  at  all  particular  as  to  its  form.  Let  govern- 
ment support  the  Establishment,  and  force  one  or 
more  creeds  on  the  people,  and  all  is  well.  Govern- 
ment may  support  Heathenism  in  one  part  of  the 
empire,  Episcopacy  in  another,  and  Presbyterianism 
in  a  third ;  or,  like  the  Prussian  government,  may 
cause  to  be  taught  under  one  roof  both  Roman 
Catholicism  and  Protestantism,  the  latter  according 
to  a  creed  altered  and  amended  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  king. 

Our  author  declares  that  "  the  popular  and  demo- 
cratic party,"  "  in  general,  evince  the  most  deadly 
hostility  to  the  tenets  of  Christianity,"  while  "its 
principles  form  the  corner-stone  of  the  opposite  body, 
who  endeavour  to  maintain  the  ascendency  of  prop- 
erty and  education."  Suppose  he  had  instanced  the 
Puritans  of  England  on  one  side,  and  the  court  of 
Charles  II.  on  the  other ;  what  would  have  become 
of  his  assertion  ?  Where  has  property  ever  been 
more  safe  than  in  New  England?  and  in  what 
country  has  the  education  of  the  whole  people  been 


ALISON'S    HISTORY  OF    EUROPE.  101 

so  long  and  so  thoroughly  provided  for  ?  Where  are 
the  common  schools  of  Old  England  ?  What  has 
she  done  even  for  the  liberal  education  of  those  who 
are  able  to  pay  for  it  ?  Why,  shut  them  out  from 
her  Universities,  unless  they  subscribe  the  "  Thirty- 
nine  Articles."  Does  Mr.  Alison  mean  that  aristo- 
cratic religionists  "  maintain  the  ascendency  of  edu- 
cation," by  placing  it  on  heights  inaccessible  to  all 
but  those  who  have  full  purses,  and  consciences  cut 
according  to  the  government  pattern  ?  We  presume 
that  he  is  a  Protestant ;  but  had  he  lived  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  where  would  his  present  principles 
have  placed  him  ?  In  his  own  country,  he  would,  of 
course,  have  been  on  the  side  of  government,  that 
is,  Catholic  and  Protestant  alternately ;  and  when 
finally  settled  as  a  Protestant,  it  would  have  depend- 
ed upon  his  precise  locality  whether  he  had  been 
a  Presbyterian  or  an  Episcopalian.  Had  he  lived  in 
Germany,  Charles  V.  would  have  moulded  his  con- 
science according  to  the  last  Papal  bull ;  and  in 
Constantinople  he  would  have  been  an  excellent 
Mahometan.  This,  too,  from  choice  and  political 
principle,  —  not  as  a  matter  of  birth,  education,  and 
conscience. 

No,  religion  does  not  depend  on  government  pat- 
ronage for  her  existence  and  progress ;  and  in  proof, 
Mr.  Alison  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  we 
adduce  the  example  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
on  one  side,  and,  on  the  other,  the  Spanish  and  Por- 
tuguese states  of  this  continent.  And,  furthermore, 
we  quote  Mr.  Alison's  own  admission  and  lamenta- 
9* 


102 

tion  of  the  fact,  that,  even  in  Great  Britain,  "  the 
National  Church  [has  fallen]  behind  the  wants  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  a  mass  of  civilized  Heathenism 
[arisen]  in  the  very  heart  of  a  Christian  land." 

Instances  without  number  might  be  cited,  to  prove 
that  religion  has  only  been  polluted  by  the  embraces 
of  the  state.  A  sovereign  may  do  vast  good  in  the 
cause  of  religion ;  but  he  must  act  as  a  munificent 
private  individual,  and  his  efforts  must  differ  from 
those  of  such  an  individual  only  in  degree,  not  in 
kind.  Compulsion  destroys  the  vitality  of  religion. 
Religion  has  lived  in  spite  of  governments,  not  by 
their  help;  and  every  step  made  in  advance  has 
been  made  outside  of,  and  in  opposition  to,  state 
establishments.  Were  it  not  for  this,  the  Christian 
religion  never  could  have  made  any  progress  at  all. 

Mr.  Alison  praises  the  Emperor  Alexander  for  his 
Christian  virtues,  and  lauds,  ad  nauseam,  the  relig- 
ious proclamations  of  the  pious  emperor  to  his  pious 
soldiers.  Russia  was  sound  at  heart :  religion 
reigned  in  the  hearts  of  the  Czar  and  his  army.  An 
excellent  thing,  —  a  state  religion  !  Through  it  the 
emperor  can  so  easily  command  the  whole  resources 
of  the  nation,  moral  and  material !  No  matter,  if  he 
is  (as  Mr.  Alison  coolly  informs  us  Alexander  was) 
an  habitual  adulterer,  and  a  "  profound  dissimula- 
tor "  ;  no  matter,  if  he  does  spend  his  life  in  adding 
to  his  territory  amore  by  the  arts  of  diplomacy  than 
war,'-'  that  is,  more  by  lying  and  cheating  than  by 
robbing ;  no  matter,  if  he  does  share  with  an  enemy 
the  spoils  of  a  defeated  ally ;  no  matter,  if  he  is  a 


103 

perfidious  enemy,  a  false  neutral,  and  a  faithless 
friend  j  —  he  is  none  the  less  an  excellent  Christian. 
Who  can  doubt  that  the  interests  of  the  Church  are 
safe  in  such  hands  ?  Not  Mr.  Alison.  And  the  re- 
ligious soldiers,  too,  to  whom  such  excellent  address- 
es were  made,  —  it  does  seem  to  us  that  they  might 
"have  been  considered  better  Christians,  if  they  had 
perpetrated  a  little  less  of  the  robbery,  rape,  and 
murder  for  which  they  rendered  themselves  notori- 
ous in  France.  A  loss  of  such  religion  would  have 
improved  their  Christianity.  In  truth,  in  a  descrip- 
tion con  amore  of  the  wars  which  followed  the 
French  Revolution,  the  less  there  is  said  of  Christi- 
anity, the  better. 

In  conclusion,  it  seems  to  us,  that,  as  a  military 
and  political  writer,  Mr.  Alison  deserves  credit  for 
general  ability,  though  frequently  incorrect ;  but,  as 
a  moralist  and  Christian  philosopher,  he  is  utterly 
unsound,  —  looking  at  his  work  as  a  whole ;  for 
what  is  unexceptionable  in  this  department  of  his 
work  is  more  than  neutralized  by  that  which  is  of 
decidedly  evil  tendency.  As  an  historian  and  geog- 
rapher, he  has  been  severely  criticized,  and,  it  appears 
to  us,  justly ;  and,  unless  his  last  edition  is  truly  a 
"  revised  and  corrected "  one,  "  Alison's  History  of 
Europe  "  is  far  from  being  sufficiently  near  perfec- 
tion to  insure  it  an  immortality  of  fifty  years.  Its 
bodily  form  may  cumber  the  shelves  of  libraries  for 
centuries  j  but  the  early  editions,  at  least,  will  be 
looked  upon,  by  all  future  historians,  as  untrust- 
worthy, dead  for  all  the  purposes  of  history.  Nev- 


104 

ertheless,  we  desire  distinctly  to  admit  that  much  of 
this  work  —  perhaps  the  greater  part  of  it,  counting 
by  pages  —  is  worthy,  taken  separately,  of  admira- 
tion and  praise ;  and,  had  it  not  been  that  with  this 
there  is  so  much  contradictory  and  erroneous  mat- 
ter mingled,  we  should  have  been  engaged  in  the 
pleasant  task  of  quoting  from  and  commending  the 
former,  instead  of  the  less  agreeable  one  of  noticing 
a  very  small  portion  of  the  latter. 


WHO   ARE   OUR   NATIONAL   POETS?* 


WHO  says  that  we  have  no  American  poetry, 
no  national  songs?  The  charge  is  often  made 
against  us,  but  (as  will  be  hereinafter  proved)  with- 
out the  slightest  foundation  in  truth.  Foreigners 
read  Bryant,  and  Halleck,  and  Longfellow,  and 
hearing  these  called  our  best  poets,  and  perceiving 
nothing  in  their  poems  which  might  not  just  as  well 
have  been  written  in  England,  or  by  Englishmen, 
they  infer,  that,  as  the  productions  of  those  who 
stand  highest  among  our  poets  have  nothing  about 
them  which  savors  peculiarly  of  America,  therefore 
America  has  no  national  poetry;  —  a  broad  conclu- 
sion from  narrow  premises. 

What  are  the  prerequisites  of  national  poetry  ? 
What  is  necessary  to  make  the  poet  national  ?  —  this 
being,  in  the  opinion  of  these  foreign  critics,  the 
highest  merit  he  can  possess.  Certainly,  liberal  ed- 
ucation and  foreign  travel  cannot  assist  him  in 
attaining  this  desirable  end ;  these  denationalize  a 
man ;  they  render  any  but  the  narrowest  soul  cos- 
mopolitan. By  these  means  the  poet  acquires  a 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker  for  October,  1845. 


106  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ? 

higher  standard  than  the  national.  By  a  kind  of 
eclecticism,  he  appropriates  forms  and  thoughts, 
images  and  modes  of  expression,  from  all  countries 
and  languages ;  by  comparing  the  specific,  the  tran- 
sient, and  the  idiosyncratic,  he  arrives  at  the  gener- 
al and  the  permanent ;  and  when  he  has  written  in 
his  own  language  a  poem  in  accordance  with  his 
new  ideal  standard,  he  may  have  produced  a  noble 
work,  but  it  can  hardly  be  a  national  poem.  He 
has  striven  to  avoid  the  faults  peculiar  to  his  own 
countrymen,  —  faults  which  he  might  have  deemed 
beauties,  had  he  finished  his  education  in  his  village 
school,  and  never  ventured  out  of  his  native  valley. 
He  has  become  enamoured  of  the  excellences  of  the 
poets  of  other  nations,  the  very  knowledge  of  which 
prevents  him  from  being  national  himself.  He  has 
become  acquainted  with  the  rules  of  universal 
poetry,  as  the  linguist  learns,  in  the  study  of  foreign 
tongues,  the  principles  of  universal  grammar.  His 
standard  is  universal,  not  national. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  follows,  that,  if  it 
be  so  desirable  as  some  people  think,  that  poetry 
should  smack  strongly  of  the  locality  in  which  it 
is  written,  then,  in  order  to  obtain  that  end,  we  must 
keep  our  poets  at  home,  give  them  a  narrow  educa- 
tion, and  allow  them  no  spare  money  by  which  they 
may  purchase  books  or  make  excursions  into  other 
ranks  of  society  than  their  own.  If  we  could  only 
pick  out  the  born  poets  when  they  are  a  fortnight 
old,  and  subject  them  to  this  regimen,  the  nation 
would  be  able  to  boast  of  original  poets  in  plenty. 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  107 

during  the  next  generation.  This  is  the  way  in 
which  Burns  became  Scotland's  greatest  national 
poet.  If  he  had  been  born  a  lord,  had  been  educat- 
ed at  Cambridge,  and  had  made  the  grand  tour  of  the 
world,  does  any  one  suppose  he  would  have  been  a 
better  poet,  or  half  so  good  ?  At  best,  he  could  not 
have  been  so  original,  nor  so  Scottish ;  and  he  might 
have  proved  to  be  only  a  tasteful  Haynes  Bayley, 
or  Barry  Cornwall ;  or  perhaps  a  miserable,  moody, 
misanthropic  Lord  Byron.  Where  would  have 
been  the  glory  of  England,  the  immortal  Shak- 
speare,  had  the  boy  William  received  an  education 
like  that  given  in  the  nineteenth  century  to  lads  of 
genius  who  have  rich  fathers  ? 

Applying  this  rule  to  America,  in  what  class  of 
our  population  must  we  look  for  our  truly  original 
and  American  poets  ?  What  class  is  most  secluded 
from  foreign  influences,  receives  the  narrowest  edu- 
cation, travels  the  shortest  distance  from  home,  has 
the  least  amount  of  spare  cash,  and  mixes  the  least 
with  any  class  above  itself?  Our  negro  slaves,  to  be 
sure.  That  is  the  class  in  which  we  must  expect 
to  find  our  original  poets,  and  there  we  do  find  them. 
From  that  class  come  the  Jim  Crows,  the  Zip  Coons, 
and  the  Dandy  Jims,  who  have  electrified  the  world. 
From  them  proceed  our  ONLY  TRULY  NATIONAL  POETS. 

When  Burns  was  discovered,  he  was  immediately 
taken  away  from  the  plough,  carried  to  Edinburgh, 
and  feted  and  lionized  to  the  "  fulness  of  satiety." 
James  Crow  and  Scipio  Coon  never  were  discovered, 
personally  j  and  if  they  had  been,  their  owners  would 


108  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ? 

not  have  spared  them  from  work.  Alas  that  poets 
should  be  ranked  with  horses,  and  provided  with 
owners  accordingly  !  In  this,  however,  our  negro 
poets  are  not  peculiarly  unfortunate.  Are  not  some 
of  their  white  brethren  owned  and  kept  by  certain 
publishing-houses,  newspapers,  and  magazines  ?  Are 
not  the  latter  class,  like  the  former,  provided  with 
just  sufficient  clothing  and  food  to  maintain  them  in 
good  working  condition,  and  with  no  more  ?  And 
do  not  the  masters,  in  both  cases,  appropriate  all  the 
profits  ? 

Messrs.  Crow  and  Coon  could  not  be  spared  from 
the  hoe,  but  they  might  be  introduced  to  the  great 
world  by  proxy.  And  so  thought  Mr.  Thomas 
Rice,  a  "  buckra  gemman  "  of  great  imitative  pow- 
ers, who  accordingly  learned  their  poetry,  music,  and 
dancing,  blacked  his  face,  and  made  his  fortune  by 
giving  to  the  world  his  counterfeit  presentment  of 
the  American  national  opera ;  counterfeit,  because 
none  but  the  negroes  themselves  could  give  it  in  its 
original  perfection.  And  thus  it  came  to  pass,  that 
while  James  Crow  and  Scipio  Coon  were  quietly  at 
work  on  their  masters'  plantations,  all-unconscious  of 
their  fame,  the  whole  civilized  world  was  resound- 
ing with  their  names.  From  the  nobility  and  gen- 
try, down  to  the  lowest  chimney-sweep  in  Great 
Britain,  and  from  the  member  of  Congress  down  to 
the  youngest  apprentice  or  school-boy  in  America,  it 
was  all 

"  Turn  about  and  wheel  about,  and  do  just  so, 
And  every  time  I  turn  about  I  jump  Jim  Crow." 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ?  109 

Even  the  fair  sex  did  not  escape  the  contagion  ; 
the  tunes  were  set  to  music  for  the  piano-forte,  and 
nearly  every  young  lady  in  the  Union  and  the 
United  Kingdom  played  and  sang,  if  she  did  not 
jump,  "  Jim  Crow."  "  Zip  Coon  "  became  a  fash- 
ionable song,  "  Lubly  Rosa,  Sambo  come,"  the  fa- 
vorite serenade,  and  "  Dandy  Jim  of  Caroline  "  the 
established  quadrille-music.  White  bards  imitated 
the  negro  melodies ;  and  the  familiar  song, 

"  As  I  was  gwine  down  Shinbone  Alley, 
Long  time  ago," 

appeared  in  the  following  shape  :  — 

"  Near  the  lake  where  drooped  the  willow, 
Long  time  ago." 

What  greater  proofs  of  genius  have  ever  been  ex- 
hibited than  by  these  our  national  poets?  They 
themselves  were  not  permitted  to  appear  in  the 
theatres  and  the  houses  of  the  fashionable,  but  their 
songs  are  in  the  mouths  and  ears  of  all ;  white  men 
have  blacked  their  faces  to  represent  them,  made 
their  fortunes  by  the  speculation,  and  have  been 
caressed  and  flattered,  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Humorous  and  burlesque  songs  are  generally 
chosen  for  theatrical  exhibition,  and  this  fact  may 
have  led  many  to  believe  that  the  negroes  compose 
no  others.  But  they  deal  in  the  pathetic  as  well  as 
the  comical.  Listen  to  the  following,  and  imagine 
the  hoe  of  Sambo  digging  into  the  ground  with 
additional  vigor  at  every  emphasized  syllable  :  — 
10 


110  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ? 

"  Massa  an'  Misse  promised  me 
When  they  died  they  'd  set  me  free ; 
Massa  an'  Misse  dead  an'  gone, 
Here  's  old  Sambo  hillin'  up  corn  !  " 

Poor  fellow  !  it  seems  a  hard  case.  His  "  massa 
an'  misse "  are  freed  from  their  bonds,  but  Sambo 
still  wears  his.  He  might  here  very  properly  stop 
and  water  the  corn  with  his  tears.  But  no  ;  Sambo 
is  too  much  of  a  philosopher  for  that.  Having  ut- 
tered his  plaint,  he  instantly  consoles  himself  with 
the  thought,  that  he  has  many  blessings  yet  to  be 
thankful  for,  even  if  the  greatest  of  all  be  wanting. 
He  thinks  of  his  wife,  and  the  good  dinner  which 
she  is  preparing  for  him,  and  from  the  depths  of  a 
grateful  and  joyous  heart  he  calls  out,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  — 

"  Jenny,  get  your  hoe-cake  done,  my  darling  ! 
Jenny,  get  your  hoe-cake  done,  my  dear  !  " 

and  Jenny,  in  her  distant  log-hut,  which  is  embow- 
ered in  Catalpa  and  Pride-of-India  trees,  gives  the 
hominy  another  stir,  looks  at  the  hoe-cake,  and 
giving  the  young  ones  a  light  cuff  or  two  on  the 
side  of  the  head,  to  make  them  "  hush,"  answers 
her  beloved  Sambo  in  the  same  strain  :  — 

"De  hoe-cake  is  almost  done,  my  darling! 
De  hoe-cake  is  almost  done,  my  dear  !  " 

Now  if  that  field  of  corn  belonged  to  Sambo,  and 
the  hut  and  its  inmates  were  his  own,  and  he 
belonged  to  himself,  this  would  be  a  delightful  spe- 
cimen of  humble  rural  felicity.  But  perhaps  his 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  Ill 

young  master  may  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  the 
ten  thousand  dollars  which  he  has  bet  upon  the  race 
that  is  to  take  place  to-morrow;  and  poor  Sambo 
and  his  family  may  be  sold,  separated,  and  sent  just 
where  their  new  masters  please,  —  possibly  to  labor 
on  a  sugar  plantation,  the  hell  of  the  blacks. 

The  greater  portion  of  our  national  poetry  origi- 
nates in  Virginia,  or  among  involuntary  Virginian 
emigrants.  ,  Slaves  are  worked  very  lightly  in  that 
State,  comparatively  speaking.  They  are  raised 
chiefly  for  exportation.  Every  year,  thousands  are 
sent  to  the  far  South  and  Southwest  for  sale.  The 
Virginian  type  of  negro  character,  therefore,  has 
come  to  prevail  throughout  the  Slave  States,  with 
the  exception  of  some  portions  of  Louisiana  and 
Florida.  Thus  everywhere  you  may  hear  nearly 
the  same  songs  and  tunes,  and  see  the  same  dances, 
with  little  variety  and  no  radical  difference.  Taken 
together,  they  form  a  system  perfectly  unique.  The 
negroes  have  many  doleful  ditties  about  the  slave- 
drivers,  which  never  reach  the  ears  of  the  world. 
It  is  only  their  comical  or  humorous  songs  that 
arrive  at  the  honor  of  being  set  to  music  and  sung 
by  the  aristocracy.  Without  any  teaching,  the 
negroes  have  contrived  a  rude  kind  of  opera,  com- 
bining the  poetry  of  motion,  of  music,  and  of 
language.  "Jim  Crow"  is  an  opera;  and  all  the 
negro  songs  were  intended  to  be  performed,  as  well 
as  sung  and  played.  And  considering  the  world- 
wide renown  to  which  they  have  attained,  who  can 
doubt  the  genius  of  the  composers  ?  Was  not  the 


112  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS? 

top  of  Mount  Washington,  once  upon  a  time,  the 
stage  on  which  "  Jim  Crow "  was  performed,  with 
New  Hampshire  and  Maine  for  audience  and  specta- 
tors ?  So  saith  one  of  the  albums  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  And  does  not  William  Howitt  tell  us 
that  the  summit  of  the  Hartz  mountains  was  the 
scene  of  a  similar  exhibition  ? 

These  operas  are  full  of  negro  life ;  there  is  hard- 
ly any  thing  which  might  not  be  learned  of  negro 
character  from  a  complete  collection  of  these  original 
works.  A  tour  through  the  South,  and  a  year  or 
two  of  plantation  life,  would  not  fail  to  reward  the 
diligent  collector ;  and  his  future  fame  would  be 
as  certain  as  Homer's.  Let  him  put  his  own  name, 
as  compiler,  on  the  title-page,  and  (the  real  authors 
being  unknown)  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  centuries 
the  contents  of  the  book  will  be  ascribed  to  him,  as 
"the  great  American  poet,"  the  object  of  adoration 
to  the  poetical  public  of  the  fiftieth  century.  What 
was  Homer  but  a  diligent  collector  ?  Some  learned 
people  say  that  he  was  nothing  more,  at  any  rate. 
Thou  who  pantest  for  glory,  go  and  do  likewise  ! 

While  writing  this,  your  city  papers  advertise,  — 
"Concert  this  evening,  by  the  African  Melodists." 
African  melodists  !  As  well  might  the  Hutchinsons 
call  themselves  English  melodists,  because  their  an- 
cestors, some  six  or  eight  generations  back,  came 
from  England.  Whether  these  performers  are 
blacks,  or  whites  with  blacked  faces,  does  not  ap- 
pear ;  but  they  are  doubtless  meant  to  represent  the 
native  colored  population  of  "  Old  Varginny,"  and  as 


WHO    ARE    OUR,    NATIONAL    POETS  ?  113 

such  should  be  judged.     They  are   American  melo- 
dists, par  excellence. 

It  is  a  true  test  of  genius  in  a  writer,  that  he 
should  be  able  to  put  his  sayings  into  the  mouths 
of  all,  so  that  they  may  become  household  words, 
quoted  by  every  one,  and,  nine  times  in  ten,  with- 
out knowledge  of  the  author  of  them.  How  often 
do  we  find  in  Shakspeare,  Sterne,  and  other  celebrat- 
ed old  writers,  the  very  expressions  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  hear  from  childhood,  without  thought 
of  their  origin !  They  meet  us  everywhere  in  the 
old  standard  works,  like  familiar  faces.  And  how 
often,  when  uttering  one  of  these  beautiful  quota- 
tions, if  questioned  as  to  its  origin,  we  feel  at  a  loss 
whether  to  refer  the  querist  to  Milton,  Sterne,  or 
the  Bible  !  Proverbs  are  said  to  be  "  the  wisdom  of 
nations " ;  yet  who  knows  the  author  of  a  single 
proverb  ?  How  many,  of  the  millions  who  weekly 
join  their  voices  to  that  glorious  tune,  Old  Hundred, 
ever  heard  the  name  of  the  composer  ?  How  tran- 
scendent, then,  must  be  the  genius  of  the  authors 
of  our  negro  operas!  Are  not  snatches  of  their 
songs  in  every  body's  mouth,  from  Johnny  Groat's  to 
Land's  End,  and  from  Labrador  to  Mexico  ?  Three 
hundred  and  fifty  times  a  day,  (we  took  the  pains  to 
count  once,)  we  have  been  amused  and  instructed 
with  "Zip  Coon,"  "Jim  Crow,"  and  the  tale  of  a 
"  Fat  raccoon,  a-sittin'  on  a  rail."  Let  Webster 
tell  of  the  tap  of  Britain's  drum,  that  encircles  the 
world !  Compared  with  the  time  occupied  by  Great 
Britain  in  bringing  this  to  pass,  "Jim  Crow"  has 


114  WHO    ARE  OUR    NATIONAL  POETS? 

"put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth  in  forty  min- 
utes." At  no  time  does  the  atmosphere  of  our  planet 
cease  to  vibrate  harmoniously  to  the  immortal  songs 
of  the  negroes  of  America.  At  this  present  moment, 
a  certain  ubiquitous  person  seems  to  be  in  the  way 
of  the  whole  people  of  these  United  States  simul- 
taneously, (a  mere  pretender,  doubtless,  dressed  up 
in  some  cast-off  negro  clothing,)  and  any  one  may 
hear  him  told,  a  hundred  times  a  day,  to  "  Get  out 
ob  de  way,  old  Dan  Tucker ! "  But  if  he  gets  out 
of  any  body's  way,  it  is  only  that  of  "  Dandy  Jim 
of  Caroline."  O  that  he  would  obey  the  command 
altogether !  but,  depend  upon  it,  he  will  do  no  such 
thing,  so  long  as  the  young  ladies  speak  to  him  in 
such  fascinating  tones,  and  accompany  their  sweet 
voices  with  the  only  less  sweet  music  of  the  piano. 
Dan  takes  it  as  an  invitation  to  stay ;  and  doubtless 
many  a  lover  would  like  to  receive  a  similar  rejec- 
tion from  his  lady-love.  —  a  fashion,  by  the  way,  like 
that  in  which  the  country  lass  reproved  her  lover  for 
kissing  her  :  "  Be  done,  Nat !  "  said  she,  "  and  [sotto 
voce]  begin  again  !  " 

Who  is  the  man  of  genius  ?  He  who  utters  clear- 
ly that  which  is  dimly  felt  by  all.  He  who  most 
vividly  represents  the  sentiment,  intellect,  and  taste 
of  the  public  to  which  he  addresses  himself.  He  to 
whom  all  hearts  and  heads  respond.  Take  our  "  na- 
tional poets,"  for  example,  whom,  being  unknown 
individually,  we  may  personify  collectively  as  the 
American  Sambo.  Is  not  Sambo  a  genius?  All 
tastes  are  delighted,  all  intellects  are  astonished,  all 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  115 

hearts  respond  to  his  utterances ;  at  any  rate,  all 
piano-fortes  do,  and  a  hundred  thousand  of  the 
sweetest  voices  in  Christendom.  What  more  con- 
vincing proof  of  genius  was  ever  presented  to  the 
world  ?  Is  not  Sambo  the  incarnation  of  the  taste, 
intellect,  and  heart  of  America,  the  ladies  being  the 
judges  ?  Do  not  shrink  from  the  answer,  most 
beautiful,  accomplished,  delicate,  and  refined  lady- 
reader  !  You  cannot  hold  yourself  above  him,  for 
you  imitate  him ;  you  spend  days  and  weeks  in 
learning  his  tunes ;  you  trill  his  melodies  with  your 
rich  voice  ;  you  are  delighted  with  his  humor,  his 
pathos,  his  irresistible  fun.  Say  truly,  incomparable 
damsel !  is  not  Sambo  the  realization  of  your  poetic 
ideal  ? 

But  our  national  melodists  have  many  imitators. 
Half  of  the  songs  published  as  theirs  are,  so  far  as 
the  words  are  concerned,  the  productions  of  "  mean 
whites  " ;  but,  base  counterfeits  as  they  are,  they 
pass  .current  with  most  people  as  genuine  negro 
songs.  Thus  is  it  ever  with  true  excellence.  It  is 
always  imitated  ;  but  no  one  counterfeits  that  which 
is  acknowledged  by  all  to  be  worthless.  The  Span- 
ish dollar  is  recognized  as  good  throughout  the 
world,  and  it  is  more  frequently  counterfeited  than 
any  other  coin.  The  hypocrite  assumes  the  garb  of 
virtue  and  religion ;  but  who  ever  thought  of  feign- 
ing vice  and  infidelity,  unless  upon  the  stage  ? 
Every  imitator  acknowledges  the  superior  excellence 
of  his  model.  The  greater  the  number  of  imitators, 
the  stronger  is  the  evidence  of  that  superiority ;  the 


116  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS? 

warmer  their  reception  by  the  public,  the  more  firm- 
ly becomes  established  the  genius  of  the  original. 

But  the  music  and  the  dancing  are  all  Sambo's 
own.  No  one  attemps  to  introduce  any  thing  new 
there.  In  truth,  they,  with  the  chorus,  constitute  all 
that  is  essentially  permanent  in  the  negro  song.  The 
blacks  themselves  leave  out  old  stanzas,  and  intro- 
duce new  ones,  at  pleasure.  Travelling  through  the 
South,  you  may,  in  passing  from  Virginia  to  Louisi- 
ana, hear  the  same  tune  a  hundred  times,  but  seldom 
the  same  words  accompanying  it.  This  necessarily 
results  from  the  fact  that  the  songs  are  unwritten, 
and  also  from  the  habit  of  extemporizing,  in  which 
the  performers  indulge  on  festive  occasions.  Let  us 
picture  one  of  these  scenes,  which  often  occur  on 
the  estates  of  kind  masters,  seldom  on  those  of  the 
cruel.  So  true  is  this,  that  the  frequent  sound  of 
the  violin,  banjo,  or  jaw-bone  lute,  is  as  sure  an 
indication  of  the  former,  as  its  general  absence  is  of 
the  latter. 

Like  the  wits  of  the  white  race,  the  negro  singer  is 
fond  of  appearing  to  extemporize,  when,  in  fact,  he 
has  every  thing  "cut  and  dried  "  beforehand.  Sam- 
bo has  heard  that  his  "  massa"  is  going  to  be  put  up 
as  candidate  for  Congress;  that  his  "misse"  has 
that  day  bought  a  new  gold  watch  and  chain ;  that 
Miss  Lucy  favors  one  of  her  lovers  above  the  rest, 
that  "  massa  and  misse  "  have  given  their  consent, 
and,  in  fact,  that  Violet,  the  chamber-maid,  saw  Miss 
Lucy  looking  lovingly  on  a  miniature  which  she 
had  that  morning  received  in  a  disguised  package. 


WHO    ARE   OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  117 

Sambo  has  learned  all  this,  and  he  has  been  engaged 
the  whole  day,  while  hoeing  corn,  in  putting  these 
facts,  and  his  thoughts  thereon,  into  verse,  to  his 
favorite  tune,  "  Zip  Coon."  He  never  did  such  a 
day's  work  in  his  life  before.  He  hoed  so  fast,  that 
his  fellow-laborers  looked  at  him  in  astonishment, 
and  said  Sambo  had  "  got  de  debbil  in  him ;  dumb 
debbil,  too ;  no  get  a  word  out  ob  him  all  day." 
Sambo  finished  his  hoeing  task  by  three  o'clock,  but 
not  his  rhyming.  He  could  not  sit  still,  so  he  went 
to  work  in  his  little  garden-patch ;  and  just  at  sun- 
down, having  completed  his  verses  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, and  hummed  them  over  till  confident  that  he 
could  sing  them  through  without  hesitation,  he 
threw  down  his  hoe,  and  shouted  and  capered  for 
joy  like  a  madman. 

Soon  after  tea,  Violet  enters  the  parlour :  —  "  Sam- 
bo sends  compliments  to  Massa  and  Misse,  and  de 
young  gemmen  and  ladies,  and  say  he  gwine  to  gib 
musical  entertainment  to  company  dis  evening  in  de 
kitchen,  and  be  happy  to  hab  a  full  house."  Sam- 
bo is  a  favorite  servant,  and  so,  with  an  air  of  kind- 
ness and  dignity,  the  master  replies :  —  "  Give  our 
compliments  to  Sambo,  and  say  that  we  will  attend 
with  pleasure  "  ;  and  soon  the  whole  family  go  out 
to  the  kitchen,  which  at  the  South  is  always  a 
building  by  itself.  The  master's  family  occupy  one 
end  of  the  room,  standing ;  the  doors  and  windows 
are  filled  with  black  faces,  grinning  ivory,  and  rolling 
eyes.  Sambo  emerges  from  behind  a  rug,  hung 
across  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  and  the  orchestra, 


118        WHO  ARE  OUR  NATIONAL  POETS  ? 

consisting  of  one  fiddle  played  by  old  Jupe,  strikes 
up,  "  Clar  de  kitchen,  old  folks,  young  folks,  old 
Yarginny  neber  tire."  This  is  a  feint,  skilfully 
planned  by  Sambo,  just  as  if  he  intended  nothing 
more  than  to  sing  over  the  well-known  words  of 
one  or  two  old  songs.  He  goes  through  this  per- 
formance, and  through  two  or  three  more,  with  the 
usual  applause :  at  last,  old  Jupe  strikes  up  "  Zip 
Coon,"  and  Sambo  sings  two  or  three  familiar  stanzas 
of  this  well-known  song ;  but  suddenly,  as  if  a  new 
thought  struck  him,  he  makes  an  extraordinary 
flourish,  looks  at  his  master,  and  sings,  — 

"  O,  my  ole  massa  gwine  to  Washington, 

O,  my  ole  massa  gwine  to  Washington, 

O,  my  ole  massa  gwine  to  Washington, 

All  'e  niggers  cry  when  massa  gone. 

I  know  what  I  wish  massa  do, 

I  know  what  I  wish  massa  do, 

I  know  what  1  wish  massa  do, 

Take  me  on  to  Washington  to  black  him  boot  an'  shoe. 
Zip  e  duden  duden,  duden  duden  da. 

"  Misse  got  a  gold  chain  round  her  neck, 

Misse  got  a  gold  chain  round  her  neck, 

Misse  got  a  gold  chain  round  her  neck  ; 

De  watch  on  toder  end  tick  tick  tick, 

De  watch  on  toder  end  tick  tick  tick, 

De  watch  on  toder  end  tick  tick  tick, 
Jus  de  same  as  Sambo  when  he  cut  up  stick. 
Zip  e  duden  duden,  duden  duden  da. 

"  Miss  Lucy  she  hab  a  gold  chain  too, 
Miss  Lucy  she  hab  a  gold  chain  too, 
Miss  Lucy  she  hab  a  gold  chain  too  ; 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  119 

No  watch  on  de  toder  end  ob  dot,  I  know, 

No  watch  on  de  toder  end  ob  dat,  I  know, 

No  watch  on  de  toder  end  ob  dat,  I  know, 

I  reckon  it's  a  picture  ob  her  handsome  beau. 

Zip  e  duden  duden,  duden  duden  da." 

Great  tittering  and  grinning  among  the  blacks ; 
hearty  laughter  among  the  whites  ;  blushes,  and  a 
playfully-threatening  shake  of  the  finger  at  Sambo, 
from  Miss  Lucy.  Sambo  meanwhile  "does"  an 
extra  quantity  of  jumping  at  an  extra  height.  His 
elation  at  the  sensation  he  has  produced  really  in- 
spires him,  and  he  prolongs  his  saltations  until  he 
has  concocted  a  genuine  impromptu  stanza :  — 

"  Who  dat  nigger  in  e  door  I  spy  ? 
Who  dat  nigger  in  e  door  I  spy  1 
Who  dat  nigger  in  e  door  I  spy  1 
Dat  old  Scip  by  de  white  ob  him  eye. 
Zip  e  duden  duden,  duden  duden  da. 

"  By  de  white  ob  him  eye  an'  he  tick  out  lip, 
By  de  white  ob  him  eye  an'  he  tick  out  lip, 
By  de  white  ob  him  eye  an'  he  tick  out  lip, 
Sambo  know  dat  old  black  Scip. 

Zip  e  duden  duden,  duden  duden  da." 

Exit  Sambo,  behind  the  rug.  Great  applause  ;  and 
white  folks  exeunt.  The  evening  winds  up  with  a 
treat  of  whiskey  all  round,  furnished  by  amassa" 
on  the  occasion,  and  in  due  time  all  disperse  to  their 
several  log-huts,  and  retire  to  rest,  after  one  of  the 
most  joyous  evenings  they  ever  passed  in  their  lives. 
All  sleep  soundly  but  Sambo ;  he  lies  awake  half 
the  night,  so  excited  is  he  by  the  honors  he  has 
acquired,  so  full  of  poetical  thoughts  seeking  to 


120       WHO  ARE  OUR  NATIONAL  POETS  ? 

shape  themselves  into  words.  Slumber  at  last  falls 
on  him ;  but  his  wife  declares,  next  morning,  that 
Sambo  talked  all  night  in  his  sleep  like  a  crazy  man. 
Thousands  at  the  South  would  recognize  the  fore- 
going as  a  faithful  sketch  of  a  not  infrequent  scene  ; 
pictures  just  the  reverse  of  this  may  be  drawn  with 
equal  truth,  we  know,  but  that  is  not  our  purpose 
here. 

"  The  man  who  has  no  music  in  his  soul, 
Nor  is  not  moved  by  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  ; 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted." 

Shakspeare  never  uttered  a  more  undeniable 
truth ;  and  if  he  were  living  at  the  present  day,  and 
needed  evidence  to  back  his  opinion,  a  short  experi- 
ence as  a  cotton-planter  would  furnish  him  with  the 
requisite  proof.  This  thing  is  well  understood  at 
the  South.  A  laughing,  singing,  fiddling,  dancing 
negro  is  almost  invariably  a  faithful  servant.  Possi- 
bly he  may  be  lazy  and  idle,  but  "  treasons,  strata- 
gems, and  spoils  "  form  not  the  subject  of  his  med- 
itations. He  is  a  thoughtless,  merry  fellow,  who 
sings  "  to  drive  dull  care  away,"  sings  at  his  work, 
sings  at  his  play,  and  generally  accomplishes  more 
at  his  labor  than  the  sulky  negro,  who  says  nothing, 
but  looks  volumes.  These  last  words  have  struck 
"  the  electric  chain  "  of  memory,  and  forthwith  starts 
up  a  picture  of  by-gone  days.  "  The  time  is  long 
past,  and  the  scene  is  afar,"  yet  the  mental  daguerre- 
otype is  as  fresh  as  if  taken  yesterday. 

One  day  during  the  early  part  of  the  Indian  war 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  121 

in  Florida,  we  stepped  into  a  friend's  boat  at  Jack- 
sonville, and,  with  a  dozen  stout  negro  rowers, 
pushed  off,  bound  up  the  St.  John's  with  a  load  of 
muskets,  to  be  distributed  among  the  distressed 
inhabitants,  who  were  everywhere  flying  from  the 
frontier  before  the  victorious  Seminoles.  As  we 
shot  ahead  over  the  lake-like  expanse  of  the  noble 
river,  the  negroes  struck  up  a  song,  to  which  they 
kept  time  with  their  oars*;  and  our  speed  increased 
as  they  went  on  and  became  warmed  with  their 
singing.  The  words  were  rude  enough,  the  music 
better,  and  both  were  well  adapted  to  the  scene.  A 
line  was  sung  by  a  leader,  then  all  joined  in  a  short 
chorus ;  then  came  another  solo  line,  and  another 
short  chorus,  followed  by  a  longer  chorus,  during 
the  singing  of  which  the  boat  foamed  through  the 
water  with  redoubled  velocity.  There  seemed  to 
be  a  certain  number  of  lines  ready  manufactured ; 
but  after  this  stock  was  exhausted,  lines  relating  to 
surrounding  objects  were  extemporized.  Some  of 
these  were  full  of  rude  wit,  and  a  lucky  hit  always 
drew  a  thundering  chorus  from  the  rowers,  and  an 
encouraging  laugh  from  the  occupants  of  the  stern- 
seats.  Sometimes  several  minutes  elapsed  in  si- 
lence ;  then  one  of  the  negroes  burst  out  with  a 
line  or  two  which  he  had  been  excogitating.  Little 
regard  was  paid  to  rhyme,  and  hardly  any  to  the 
number  of  syllables  in  a  line ;  they  condensed  four 
or  five  into  one  foot,  or  stretched  out  one  to  occupy 
the  space  that  should  have  been  filled  with  four  or 
five  ;  yet  they  never  spoiled  the  tune.  This  elas- 
ticity of  form  is  peculiar  to  the  negro  song. 
11 


122  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ? 

But  among  these  negroes  there  was  one  who  rowed 
in  silence,  and  no  smile  lighted  up  his  countenance  at 
the  mirthful  sallies  of  his  sable  companions.  When 
the  others  seemed  merriest,  he  was  unmoved,  or 
only  showed,  by  a  transient  expression  of  contempt, 
the  bitterness  which  dwelt  in  his  heart.  In  physi- 
ognomy he  differed  entirely  from  his  companions. 
His  nose  was  straight  and  finely  cut,  his  lips  thin, 
and  the  general  cast  of  his  countenance  strikingly 
handsome.  He  was  very  dark,  and  in  a  tableau 
vivant  might  have  figured  with  credit  as  a  bronze 
statue  of  a  Grecian  hero.  He  seemed  misplaced, 
and  looked  as  if  he  felt  so.  The  countenance  of 
that  man,  as  he  carelessly  plied  his  oar,  in  silent 
contempt  of  the  merry,  thoughtless  set  around  him, 
made  an  impression  on  my  mind  which  will  never 
be  effaced.  He  spoke  not,  but  "  looked  unutterable 
things."  He  had  no  " music  in  his  soul"  j  he  was 
not  "  moved  by  concord  of  sweet  sounds  "  ;  but  his 
thoughts  were  on  "  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  "  ; 
he  was  thinking  of  the  muskets  and  ammunition 
which  the  boat  contained,  and  of  the  excellent  use 
that  might  be  made  of  them,  in  the  way  of  helping 
the  Indians,  instead  of  repelling  them.  "Let  no 
such  man  be  trusted ! "  would  have  been  a  proper 
precaution  in  this  case.  A  few  weeks  after  this,  he 
ran  away  and  joined  the  Seminoles,  and  was  sus- 
pected to  have  acted  as  a  guide  to  the  party  that 
subsequently  laid  waste  his  master's  plantation. 

Comparatively  speaking,  however,  there  are  few 
negroes  at  the  South  who  have  "no  music  "  in  their 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS  ?  123 

souls.  The  love  of  music  and  song  is  characteristic 
of  the  race.  They  have  songs  on  all  subjects, 
witty,  humorous,  boisterous,  and  sad.  Most  fre- 
quently, however,  specimens  of  all  these  classes  are 
mingled  together  in  the  same  song,  in  grotesque 
confusion.  Variety  is  the  spice  of  the  negro  melo- 
dies. Take  the  following  as  a  fair  specimen  of  ne- 
gro humor  and  pathos :  — 

"  Come,  all  you  jolly  niggers,  to  you  de  truf  I  tell-ah  ; 
Neber  lib  wid  white  folks,  dey  neber  use  you  well-ah  : 
Cold  frosty  mornin',  nigger  bery  good-ah, 
Wid  he  axe  on  he  shoulder,  he  go  to  cut  de  wood-ah ; 

Dingee  I  otten  dotten,  balli'  otten  dotten, 

Dingee  I  otten,  who  dar'  ? 

"  Come  home  to  breakfast,  get  somethin'  to  eat-ah  ; 
And  dey  set  down  before  him  a  little  nasty  meat-ah  ; 
Den  at  noon  poor  nigger  he  come  home  to  dine-ah, 
And  dey  take  him  in  de  corn-field  and  gib  him  thirty-nine-ah  ! 

Dingee  I  otten  dotten,  balli'  otten  dotten, 

Dingee  I  otten,  who  dar''  ? 

"Den  de  night  come  on,  and  he  come  home  to  supper-ah, 
And  dey  knock  down,  and  break  down,  and  jump  ober  Juber-ah  ! 
Den  a  little  cold  pancake,  and  a  little  hog-fat-ah, 
And  dey  grumble  like  de  debbil,  if  you  eat  too  much  ob  dat-ah  ! 

Dingee  I  otten  dotten,  balli'  otten  dotten, 

Dingee  I  otten,  who  dor"1  ? 

"  Den,  O  poor  nigger  !  I  sorry  for  your  color-ah  ; 
Hit  you  on  de  back-bone,  you  sound  like  a  dollar-ah ! 
Cold  frosty  mornin',  nigger  bery  good-ah  ; 
Wid  he  axe  on  he  shoulder,  he  go  to  cut  de  wood-ah  ! 

Dingee  I  otten  dotten,  balli'  otten  dotten, 

Dingee  I  otten,  who  dar"1  ?  " 


124  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS? 

The  intelligent  reader,  conversant  with  Hewitt's 
"  Student  Life  in  Germany,"  cannot  have  failed  to 
note  the  close  similarity  of  style  between  the  fore- 
going and  some  of  the  students'  songs,  translations  of 
which  are  therein  given.  The  question  arises,  Who 
was  the  imitator  ?  Surely  not  the  negro  :  he  knows 
not  that  there  is  in  existence  such  a  being  as  a  Ger- 
man student.  But  the  students  know  the  whole 
history  of  the  negroes,  and  doubtless  are  acquainted 
with  their  world-renowned  songs.  The  inference  is 
irresistible  :  the  student  is  the  imitator  of  the  negro, 
just  in  the  same  way  that  he  is  the  imitator  of 
Homer,  and  Anacreon,  and  Sappho.  The  student  is 
a  man  of  discernment,  able  to  recognize  true  genius, 
and  not  ashamed  to  emulate  it,  however  lowly  the 
circumstances  in  which  it  may  be  found.  He 
remembers  that  Homer  was  a  blind,  wandering  beg- 
gar, and,  knowing  that  simplicity  and  adversity  are 
favorable  to  the  growth  of  true  poetry,  he  is  not  sur- 
prised to  find  it  flourishing  in  perfection  among  the 
American  negroes.  Or,  say  that  the  student  is  not 
an  imitator  of  the  negro :  then  we  have  a  case 
which  goes  to  establish  still  more  firmly  the  well- 
known  truth,  that,  human  nature  being  the  same 
everywhere,  men  of  genius,  living  thousands  of 
miles  apart,  and  holding  no  communication  with 
each  other,  often  arrive  at  the  same  results. 

Proofs  of  the  genius  of  our  American  poets  crowd 
upon  us  in  tumultuous  array  from  all  quarters.  A 
few  of  them  only  are  before  the  reader,  but  enough, 
it  is  hoped,  to  establish  their  claim  beyond  a  doubt. 


WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS?  125 

Now  let  justice  'be  done.  Render  to  Caesar,  and 
Pompey,  and  Scipio,  and  Sambo,  the  just  honor 
which  has  so  long  been  unjustly  withheld ;  and 
render  to  America  the  meed  of  praise  which  has  been 
so  pertinaciously  denied  to  her.  Sambo  claims 
honor  for  the  fact  that  he  is  a  true  poet :  America 
asks  praise  for  bringing  him  up,  with  infinite  pains, 
in  the  only  way  in  which  a  true  poet  should  go; 
which  fact  was  demonstrated  in  the  beginning  of 
this  article.  Acknowledge,  then,  ye  British  critics, 
your  sins  of  omission  and  commission  j  eat  your 
own  slanderous  words,  and  proclaim  the  now  unde- 
niable truth,  or  else  be  branded  as  false  prophets, 
and  "  for  ever  after  hold  your  peace  "  ! 

A  wise  man  has  said,  "  Let  me  have  the  making 
of  the  songs  of  a  people,  and  I  care  not  who  makes 
their  laws."  The  popular  song-maker  sways  the 
souls  of  men ;  the  legislator  rules  only  their  bodies. 
The  song-maker  governs  through  love  and  spiritual 
affinity;  the  legislator  by  brute  force.  Apply  this 
principle  to  the  American  people.  Who  are  our  true 
rulers  ?  The  negro  poets,  to  be  sure.  Do  they  not 
set  the  fashion,  and  give  laws  to  the  public  taste  ? 
Let  one  of  them,  in  the  swamps  of  Carolina,  com- 
pose a  new  song,  and  it  no  sooner  reaches  the  ear  of 
a  white  amateur,  than  it  is  written  down,  amended, 
(that  is,  almost  spoilt,)  printed,  and  then  put  upon  a 
course  of  rapid  dissemination,  to  cease  only  with 
the  utmost  bounds  of  Anglo-Saxondom,  perhaps  of 
the  world.  '  Meanwhile,  the  poor  author  digs  away 
with  his  hoe,  utterly  ignorant  of  his  greatness. 
11* 


126  WHO    ARE    OUR    NATIONAL    POETS   ? 

11  Blessed  are  they  who  do  good,  and  are  forgotten  !  " 
says  dear  Miss  Bremer.  Then  blessed  indeed  are 
our  national  melodists  !  "  True  greatness  is  always 
modest,"  says  some  one  else.  How  great,  then, 
are  our  retiring  Sambos !  How  shrinkingly  they 
remain  secluded,  and  allow  sooty-faced  white  men 
to  gather  all  the  honors  and  emoluments !  The 
works  of  great  men  are  always  imitated.  Even 
those  miserable  counterfeits,  "Lucy  Long,"  and 
"  Old  Dan  Tucker,"  have  secured  a  large  share  of 
favor,  on  the  supposition  that  they  were  genuine 
negro  songs.  With  the  music  no  great  fault  can  be 
found ;  that  may  be  pure  negro,  though  some  people 
declare  it  to  be  Italian.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
words  are  far  beneath  the  genius  of  our  American 
poets;  this  any  student,  well  versed  in  negro  lore, 
can  perceive  at  a  glance. 

Bryant,  Longfellow,  Halleck,  Whittier,  do  you 
ardently  desire  fame  ?  Give  heed  to  foreign  re- 
viewers ;  doubt  no  longer  that  nationality  is  the 
highest  merit  that  poetry  can  possess ;  uneducate 
yourselves ;  consult  the  taste  of  your  fair  country- 
women ;  write  no  more  English  poems ;  write  negro 
songs,  and  Yankee  songs  in  negro  style ;  take  les- 
sons in  dancing  of  the  celebrated  Thomas  Rice  ; 
appear  upon  the  stage  and  perform  your  own  operas ; 
do  this,  and  not  only  will  fortune  and  fame  be 
yours,  but  you  will  thus  vindicate  yourselves  and 
your  country  from  the  foul  imputation  under  which 
both  now  rest.  With  your  names  on  the  list  with 
Crow  and  Coon,  who  then  will  dare  to  say  that 
America  has  no  national  poets  ? 


TOLERATION.* 


"  Do  unto  others  as  ey  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you." 

"HE  is  a  skeptic  !  "  says  one  ;  " have  nothing  to 
do  with  him !  "  Yes,  he  is  a  skeptic,  and  therefore 
it  is  the  duty  of  all  good  Christians,  of  all  who 
have  the  welfare  of  their  souls  at  heart,  of  all  un- 
changeable believers  in  established  forms  and  creeds, 
to  shun  him  as  they  would  the  plague.  They 
deem  him  the  victim  of  a  moral  pestilence,  and 
fancy  that  he  scatters  disease  and  death  wherever 
he  goes.  Is  Truth,  then,  so  weak,  and  her  influence 
on  her  followers  so  enervating  ? 

But  who  is  this  skeptic?  Is  he  honest?  "  O, 
yes !  no  one  doubts  that  he  is  sincere,  honest,  and 
desirous  of  being  truly  virtuous ;  but  all  this  makes 
him  only  so  much  the  more  dangerous.  He  is  Satan 
in  the  garb  of  an  angel."  How  do  you  know  he 
is  a  devil  ?  You  do  not  know  it ;  but  I  will  tell  you 
why  you  think  as  you  do,  —  why  you  judge  thus 
harshly  of  your  brother.  It  is  because  he  is  not  a 
Christian  according  to  your  creed.  And  who  made 
you  a  ruler  and  a  judge  over  him  ?  He  believes  in 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  May,  1843. 


128  TOLERATION. 

God,  and  that  Jesus  is  the  Christ ;  he  believes  it  to 
be  his  duty,  and  feels  it  to  be  his  privilege,  to  love 
God  with  all  his  heart,  and  also  to  love  his  neigh- 
bour as  himself;  but  he  does  not  believe  some  other 
things  which  you  do  ;  he  does  not  subscribe  to  every 
item  of  your  church  creed,  and  therefore  he  is  to 
you  a  heathen.  Be  not  so  uncharitable,  or  you  may 
disgust  him  at  the  outset  with  what  you  deem  Chris- 
tianity. He  has  already,  through  much  toil,  com- 
prehended and  received  the  above-named  four  cardinal 
articles  of  your  faith ;  speak  kindly  to  him,  encour- 
age him,  and  he  may  in  due  time  understand  and 
embrace  the  remaining  and  minor  articles. 

But  how  came  you  with  your  creed  ?  Were  you 
educated  in  it?  Did  you  take  it  on  the  authority 
of  your  teachers  ?  Ah,  indeed !  Then  if  you  had 
been  born  a  Turk,  it  would  have  been  a  sin  in  you 
to  have  questioned  the  truth  of  Islamism.  It  is 
now  a  sin  for  you  to  ask  a  Turk  to  doubt  the  au- 
thority of  his  teachers.  If  it  is  right  to  believe  all 
that  our  early  spiritual  guides  have  taught  us,  and  a 
sin  to  doubt  the  infallibility  of  their  authority,  then 
all  who  unhesitatingly  receive  the  religion  of  their 
fathers  are  right ;  then  all  mankind  are  right,  except 
skeptics  and  apostates  j  and  even  the  skeptics  are 
right,  if  their  parents  and  teachers  were  skeptics 
before  them.  Call  home  your  missionaries ;  abolish 
your  societies  for  the  conversion  of  the  heathen. 
You  ask  them  to  sin,  when  you  invite  them  to 
emancipate  themselves  from  the  thraldom  of  au- 
thority. 


TOLERATION.  129 

This  is  slavish.  To  be  a  saving,  yours  must  be 
a  living  faith :  you  must  work  out  your  own  salva- 
tion ;  others  cannot  do  it  for  you.  You  must  build 
up  your  own  faith,  and  breathe  into  it  the  breath 
of  life  from  your  own  soul.  You  must  begin  by 
doubting  ;  you  must  be  a  skeptic  ;  a  skeptic,  but  not 
a  mere  caviller.  Be  earnest,  be  truth-loving. 
"  Seek  and  you  shall  find ;  knock  and  it  shall  be 
opened  unto  you."  And  look  not  askance  on  others 
who  seek  truth  in  a  different  path  from  your  own, 
for  the  castle  of  Truth  has  many  approaches ;  nor 
on  those  who  knock  not  at  the  same  door  with  your- 
self, for  it  hath  many  portals,  —  ay,  and  many  a  pos- 
tern and  private  entrance,  by  which  those  whom  you 
despise  may  chance  to  obtain  an  audience  before 
you,  with  your  crowd,  shall  have  reached  even  the 
anteroom  of  the  castle. 

You  believe  in  a  certain  creed  and  certain  forms 
of  worship ;  and  if  you  believe  with  all  your  heart, 
I  say,  God  speed  you  on  your  road  to  heaven !  I 
will  never  attempt  to  turn  you  from  what  you 
deem  the  path  of  duty,  by  denunciation  and  threats 
of  the  penalties  of  hell-fire.  Believing  as  you  do,  it 
would  be  a  sin  for  you  to  act  otherwise  ;  it  would  be 
a  sin  in  me  to  ask  you  to  belie  your  conscience.  I 
may,  indeed,  question  your  belief,  and  inform  you  of 
mine ;  but  I  have  no  right  to  condemn  you,  if  you 
cannot  forsake  yours  and  adopt  mine. 

Have  charity,  dear  brother !  have  charity  for 
those  who  differ  from  you.  All  stomachs  cannot  di- 
gest the  same  kind  of  food;  all  souls  cannot  draw 


130  TOLERATION. 

nourishment  from  the  same  spiritual  aliment.  All 
eyes  cannot  see  through  the  same  spectacles ;  all 
souls  cannot  worship  through  the  same  forms,  can- 
not discern  God  through  the  same  medium.  He 
who  is  honest  and  earnest  is  on  the  road  to  heaven  ; 
and  whether  his  progress  be  slow  or  rapid,  he  will 
surely  reach  it,  be  he  Jew,  Gentile,  or  Christian  ; 
and  he  will  find  a  little  charity  no  burden  on  the 
road. 

The  human  mind  is  a  kind  of  telescope ;  the  ele- 
mental faculties  are  the  glasses ;  and  as  in  no  two 
are  these  found  alike,  so  no  two  persons  see  with 
equal  readiness,  distinctness,  and  power.  The  vis- 
ion of  some  is  distorted ;  of  others,  clear  and  pierc- 
ing for  distant  objects,  but  useless  for  their  immedi- 
ate neighbourhood ;  of  yet  others,  almost  microscopic, 
perceiving  with  surprising  minuteness  objects  near  at 
hand,  but  blind  to  those  which  are  distant,  —  discern- 
ing the  near  flower,  but  failing  to  comprehend  the 
entire  landscape.  This  will  account  for  the  differ- 
ent manner  in  which  we  view  things.  Where  I  see 
a  plain  natural  fact,  you  see  a  miracle ;  where  I  see 
a  simple  truth,  and  reverentially  state  it,  you  hold  up 
your  hands  in  horror,  and  exclaim,  —  "  Falsehood  and 
blasphemy !  "  Verily,  friend,  we  resemble  two  per- 
sons standing  on  a  cliff,  observing  the  distant  ocean ; 
the  one  with  a  pocket-glass,  the  other  with  a  power- 
ful telescope.  What  appears  a  schooner  to  one  is  a 
cockboat  to  the  other ;  where  this  man  sees  naught, 
the  other  beholds  a  distant  fleet ;  and,  as  each  be 
lieves  his  own  glass  the  best,  or  (if  he  be  very 


TOLERATION.  131 

modest)  at  least  as  good  as  his  neighbour's,  however 
earnestly  they  strive  to  convince  one  another,  each 
obstinately  remains  of  his  own  opinion,  the  one  be- 
lieving in  his  cockboat,  the  other  in  his  schooner. 

Which  has  the  best  glass,  you  or  I,  I  will  not 
undertake  to  determine  ;  though  I  am  fully  as  much 
inclined  to  think  that  you  have  it  as  that  I  have. 
Could  we  but  exchange  for  a  moment,  as  the  ocean- 
gazers  might  easily  do,  what  a  light  would  break  in 
upon  the  short-sighted  one  !  What  a  clearing  up  of 
doubts  would  there  be !  What  a  doing  away  with 
disputed  questions !  But,  unhappily,  as  every  tub 
must  stand  on  its  own  bottom,  so  every  man  must 
see  with  his  own  mental  telescope ;  hence  there 
must  needs  be  doubts  and  disputations  to  the  end. 
Or  rather,  I  should  say,  this  is  happily  contrived; 
for  what  a  sleepy  world  were  this,  if  all  saw  alike ! 
and  what  an  unhappy  man  would  he  be,  who,  after 
enjoying  a  friend's  fine  telescope,  should  be  again 
reduced  to  his  own  old  horn-spectacles ! 

After  all,  it  must  be  best  as  it  is;  for  God  made 
every  thing ;  and  I  must  even  be  contented  with  the 
pocket-glass  which  he  gave  me,  although  you  may 
have  your  heaven-searching  telescope. 

But  we  are  a  proselyting  race,  and  though  we  are 
perfectly  well  satisfied  with  our  own  spy-glasses,  we 
are  continually  endeavouring  to  improve  the  faulty 
ones  of  our  neighbours  ;  and  certainly  this  is  a  laud- 
able undertaking,  if  conceived  and  executed  in  a 
proper  spirit.  But  when  I  would  restore  sight  to  a 
blind  man,  I  must  not  begin  by  charging  him  with 


132  TOLERATION. 

blasphemy  because  he  says  the  sun  shines  not,  or  he 
will  be  apt  to  avoid  me,  and  so  prevent  me  from  do- 
ing a  good  action.  Thus,  without  finding  fault  with 
this  man  or  that  for  beholding  according  to  the  fac- 
ulties which  God  has  bestowed  upon  each,  I  would 
merely  desire  the  Same  privilege  myself;  and  if,  in 
my  blindness,  I  should  honestly  aver  that  there  is 
no  sun  in  the  sky,  do  not  open  on  me  the  cry  of 
"falsehood"  and  "blasphemy,"  seeing  that  to  me  no 
sun  exists. 

Are  you  undecided  between  the  Trinity  and  the 
Unity?  Are  you  fearful  that  you  shall  not  render 
due  honor  to  each  member  of  the  Godhead  ? 
Worship  the  Almighty  Spirit  of  the  Universe,  the 
great  God  of  Nature ;  and  be  assured  that  in  adoring 
the  whole,  you  are  adoring  each  part.  Are  you  lost 
in  the  mazes  of  the  doctrine  of  atonement  ?  Are  you 
unable  to  comprehend  it,  and  at  the  same  time  fear- 
ful of  condemnation  for  not  accepting  it  ?  Go  and 
do  a  kind  service  to  a  suffering  brother-man,  and 
your  path  shall  be  enlightened,  your  heart  made 
easy,  and  you  shall  go  on  your  way  rejoicing.  Do 
you  doubt  of  your  own  salvation  ?  Go,  repent  of 
your  sins ;  forgive  all  who  have  offended  you,  as 
you  desire  to  be  forgiven;  do  unto  others  as  you 
would  that  others  should  do  unto  you ;  and  as  you 
fear  the  judgment  of  God,  judge  kindly  of  your  fel- 
low-mortals. Quarrel  with  no  man  on  account  of 
his  honest  belief;  for  if  you  are  wise,  you  will  be- 
think yourself  how  likely  it  is  that  you  may  be 
in  error,  —  nay,  how  impossible  it  is,  that,  on  many 
points,  you  should  be  otherwise. 


TOLERATION.  133 

Thus,  whenever  you  are  lost  in  the  mazes  of 
theoretical  theology,  go  and  practise  that  which  you 
know  to  be  right ;  and  fear  not  the  issue ;  for,  "  If 
any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall  know  of  the 
doctrine." 


WHAT   IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?* 


THIS  question  has  often  been  asked,  but  seldom 
answered  satisfactorily.  Newspaper  editors  and  cor- 
respondents have  frequently  attempted  a  practical 
elucidation  of  the  mystery,  by  quoting  from  their 
own  brains  the  rarest  piece  of  absurdity  which  they 
could  imagine,  and  entitling  it  "  Transcendentalism." 
One  good  hit  of  this  kind  may  be  well  enough,  by 
way  of  satire  upon  the  fogginess  of  certain  writers 
who  deem  themselves,  and  are  deemed  by  the  multi- 
tude, Transcendental  par  eminence.  Coleridge,  how- 
ever, thought  that  to  parody  stupidity  by  way  of 
ridiculing  it  only  proves  the  parodist  more  stupid 
than  the  original  blockhead.  Still,  one  such  at- 
tempt may  be  tolerated ;  but  when  imitators  of  the 
parodist  arise,  and  fill  almost  every  newspaper  in  the 
country  with  similar  witticisms,  such  efforts  become 
"  flat  and  unprofitable  "  ;  for  nothing  is  easier  than 
to  put  words  together  in  a  form  which  conveys 
no  meaning  to  the  reader.  It  is  a  cheap  kind  of 
wit,  asinine  rather  than  Attic,  and  can  be  exercised 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  March,  1844. 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?  135 

as  well  by  those  who  know  nothing  of  the  subject 
as  by  those  best  acquainted  with  it.  Indeed,  it  is 
greatly  to  be  doubted  whether  one  in  a  hundred  of 
these  witty  persons  knows  any  thing  of  the  matter  j 
for,  if  they  possessed  sense  enough  to  make  them 
worthy  of  being  ranked  among  reasonable  men,  it 
could  be  proved  to  them  in  five  minutes  that  they 
are  themselves  Transcendentalists,  as  all  thinking 
men  find  themselves  compelled  to  be,  whether  they 
know  themselves  by  that  name  or  not. 

"  Poh  !  "  said  a  friend,  looking  over  my  shoulder; 
"you  can't  prove  me  a  Transcendentalist ;  I  defy 
you  to  do  it ;  I  despise  the  name." 

"  Why  so  ?  Let  us  know  what  it  is  that  you  de- 
spise. Is  it  the  sound  of  the  word  ?  Is  it  not 
sufficiently  euphonious  ?  Does  it  not  strike  your  ear 
as  smoothly  as  Puseyite  or  Presbyterian? " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  he  ;  "  you  don't  suppose  that  I 
am  to  be  misled  by  the  sound  of  a  word  j  it  is  the 
meaning  to  which  I  object.  I  despise  Transcenden- 
talism ;  therefore  I  do  not  wish  to  be  called  Tran- 
scendentalist." 

"  Very  well ;  but  we  shall  never  l  get  ahead,' 
unless  you  define  Transcendentalism  according  to 
your  understanding  of  the  word." 

"  That  request  is  easily  made,  but  not  easily  com- 
plied with.  Have  you  Carlyle  or  Emerson  at 
hand?" 

Here  I  took  down  a  volume  of  each,  and  read  va- 
rious sentences  and  paragraphs  therefrom.  "  These 
passages  are  full  of  Transcendental  ideas ;  do  you 
object  to  them  ?  " 


136  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM? 

"No,"  said  my  friend;  "for  aught  I  can  perceive, 
they  might  have  been  uttered  by  any  one  who  was 
not  a  Transcendentalist.  Let  me  see  the  books." 

After  turning  over  the  leaves  a  long  while,  he  se- 
lected and  read  aloud  a  passage  from  Carlyle,  one  of 
his  very  worst  j  abrupt,  nervous,  jerking,  and  at  the 
same  time  windy,  long-drawn-out,  and  parentheti- 
cal ;  a  period  filling  a  whole  page. 

"  There,"  said  he,  stopping  to  take  breath,  "  if 
that  is  not  enough  to  disgust  one  with  Transcenden- 
talism, then  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter." 

"  A  very  sensible  conclusion.  Bless  your  soul,  that 
is  Carlyle-ism,  not  Transcendentalism.  You  said 
but  now  that  you  were  not  to  be  misled  by  the 
sound  of  a  word  j  and  yet  you  are  condemning  a 
principle,  on  account  of  the  bad  style  of  a  writer 
who  is  supposed  to  be  governed  by  it.  Is  that 
right  ?  Would  you  condemn  Christianity  because 
of  the  weaknesses  and  sins  of  one  of  its  professors  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  he  ;  "I  wish  to  be  fair. 
I  cannot  express  my  idea  of  the  meaning  of  Tran- 
scendentalism without  tedious  circumlocution,  and 
I  begin  to  despair  of  proving  my  position  by  quota- 
tions. It  is  not  on  any  particular  passage  that  I  rest 
my  case.  You  have  read  this  work,  and  will  under- 
stand me  when  I  say  that  it  is  to  its  general  intent 
and  spirit  that  I  object,  and  not  merely  to  the  au- 
thor's style." 

"  I  think  that  I  comprehend  you.  You  disregard 
the  mere  form  in  which  the  author  expresses  his 
thoughts ;  you  go  beyond  and  behind  that,  and 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?  137 

judge  him  by  the  thoughts  themselves,  —  not  by  one 
or  by  two,  but  by  the  sum  and  substance  of  the 
whole.  You  strip  off  the  husk  to  arrive  at  the  ker- 
nel, and  judge  of  the  goodness  of  the  crop  by  the 
latter,  not  the  former." 

"  Just  so,"  said  he  ;  "  that  's  my  meaning  precisely. 
I  always  strive  to  follow  that  rule  in  every  thing. 
{ Appearances,'  you  know,  '  are  deceitful.'  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  go  beyond  or  transcend  ap- 
pearances and  circumstances,  and  divine  the  true 
meaning,  the  substance,  the  spirit,  of  that  on  which 
you  are  about  to  decide.  That  is  practical  Transcen- 
dentalism, and  you  are  a  Transcendentalist." 

"  I  wish  you  would  suggest  another  name  for  it," 
said  my  friend,  as  he  went  out  of  the  door ;  "I  de- 
test the  sound  of  that  word." 

"  I  wish  we  could,"  said  I,  but  he  was  out  of  hear- 
ing ;  "I  wish  we  could,  for  it  is  an  abominably  long 
word  to  write." 

"I  wish  we  could,"  mutters  the  printer;  "for  it  is 
an  awfully  long  word  to  print." 

"I  wish  we  could,"  is  the  sober  second  thought 
of  all ;  for  people  will  always  condemn  Transcen- 
dentalism until  it  is  called  by  another  name.  Such 
is  the  force  of  prejudice. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  our  conversation  of 
yesterday,"  said  my  friend,  the  next  morning,  on 
entering  my  room. 

"  O,  you  have  been  writing  it  down,  have  you  ? 
Let  me  see  it." 

12* 


138  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM? 

After  looking  over  the  sketch,  he  remarked,  — 
"  You  seem  to  have  me  fast  enough  ;  but,  after  all, 
I  believe  you  conquered  merely  by  playing  upon  a 
word,  and,  in  proving  me  to  be  a  Transcendentalist, 
you  only  proved  me  to  be  a  reasonable  being,  — 
one  capable  of  perceiving,  remembering,  combining, 
comparing,  and  deducing,  —  one  who,  amid  the  ap- 
parent contradictions  by  which  we  are  surrounded, 
strives  to  reconcile  appearances  and  discover  princi- 
ples, and  from  the  outward  and  visible  to  learn  the 
inward  and  spiritual,  —  in  fine,  to  arrive  at  truth. 
Now  every  reasonable  man  claims  to  be  all  that  I 
have  avowed  myself  to  be.  If  this  is  to  be  a  Tran- 
scendentalist, then  I  am  one.  When  I  read  that  I 
must  hate  my  father  and  mother  before  I  can  be  a 
disciple  of  Jesus,  I  do  not  understand  that  passage 
literally ;  I  call  to  mind  other  precepts  of  Christ ;  I 
remember  the  peculiarities  of  the  Eastern  style  ;  I 
compare  these  facts  together,  and  deduce  therefrom  a 
very  different  principle  from  that  apparently  embodied 
in  the  passage  quoted.  When  I  see  the  Isles  of  Shoals 
doubled,  and  the  duplicates  reversed  in  the  air  above 
the  old  familiar  rocks,  I  do  not,  as  I  stand  on  Rye 
beach,  observing  the  interesting  phenomenon,  be- 
lieve that  there  are  two  sets  of  islands  there ;  but, 
recalling  facts  which  I  have  learned,  and  philosophi- 
cal truths  which  I  have  acquired  and  verified,  I  at- 
tribute the  appearance  to  its  true  cause,  the  refrac- 
tion of  light.  When,  in  passing  from  room  to  room 
in  the  dark,  with  my  arms  outspread,  I  strike  my 
nose  against  the  edge  of  a  door,  I  do  not  thence  con- 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?  139 

elude  that  my  nose  is  longer  than  my  arms.  When 
I  see  a  man  stumble  in  the  street,  I  do  not  at  once 
set  him  down  as  a  drunkard,  not  considering  that 
to  be  sufficient  evidence,  although  some  of  our 
Washingtonian  friends  do ;  but  I  compare  that  fact 
with  the  state  of  the  streets,  and  with  what  I  know 
of  his  previous  life,  and  judge  accordingly." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  are  an  excellent  Transcen- 
dentalist,  —  one  after  my  own  heart,  in  morals,  phi- 
losophy, and  religion.  To  be  a  Transcendentalist  is 
after  all  to  be  only  a  sensible,  unprejudiced  man,  open 
to  conviction  at  all  times,  and  spiritually-minded.  I- 
can  well  understand,  that,  when  you  condemn  Tran- 
scendentalism, you  object,  not  to  the  principle,  but  to 
the  practice,  in  the  superlative  degree,  of  that  princi- 
ple. Transcendentalism  is  but  an  abstract  mode  of 
considering  morals,  philosophy,  religion,  —  an  appli- 
cation of  the  principles  of  abstract  science  to  these 
subjects.  All  metaphysicians  are  Transcendentalists, 
and  every  one  is  Transcendental  so  far  as  he  is  meta- 
physical. There  are  as  many  different  modifications 
of  the  one  as  of  the  other,  and  probably  no  two 
Transcendentalists  ever  thought  alike  ;  their  creed  is 
not  yet  written.  You  certainly  do  not  condemn 
spiritualism ;  but  ultra-spiritualism  you  seem  to 
abhor." 

"  Precisely  so.  I  did  not  yesterday  give  you  the 
meaning  which  I  attached  to  Transcendentalism  ;  in 
truth,  practically  you  meant  one  thing  by  that  term, 
and  I  another,  though  I  now  see  that  in  principle 
they  are  the  same.  The  spiritualism  which  I  like 


140  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM? 

looks  through  nature  and  revelation  up  to  God ;  that 
which  I  abhor  hardly  condescends  to  make  use  of 
nature  at  all,  but  demands  direct  converse  with  God, 
and  declares  that  it  enjoys  it  too,  —  a  sort  of  contin- 
ual and  immediate  revelation.  Itself  is  its  own  au- 
thority. The  ultra-spiritualist  contains  within  him- 
self the  fulness  of  the  Godhead.  He  admits  nothing 
external,  unless  it  be  brother  spirits  like  himself. 
He  has  abolished  nature,  and  to  the  uninitiated 
seems  to  have  abolished  God  himself,  although  I  am 
charitable  enough  to  believe  that  he  has  full  faith  in 
God  after  his  own  fashion.  He  claims  to  be  in- 
spired, to  be  equal  to  Jesus,  —  nay,  superior ;  for  one 
of  them  lately  said,  — '  Greater  is  the  container  than 
the  contained ;  therefore  I  am  greater  than  God,  for 
I  contain  God ' !  The  ultra-spiritualist  believes 
only  by  and  through  and  in  his  own  inward  light. 
Let  him  take  care,  as  Carlyle  says,  that  his  own 
contemptible  tar-link  does  not,  by  being  held  too 
near  his  eyes,  extinguish  to  him  the  sun  of  the 
universe.  Now  the  true  spiritualist  makes  use,  not 
only  of  his  own  moral  and  religious  instincts,  but 
of  all  that  can  be  gathered  by  the  senses  from  exter- 
nal nature,  and  all  that  can  be  acquired  by  untiring 
consultation  with  the  sages  who  have  gone  before 
him ;  and  from  these  materials  in  the  alembic  of  his 
mind,  with  such  power  as  God  has  given  him,  he 
distils  truth." 

"  Truth  !  ah.  that  is  the  very  point  in  question. 
1  What  is  truth  ? '  has  been  the  ardent  inquiry  of 
every  honest  mind  from  the  days  of  Adam  to  the 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?  141 

present  time,  and  the  sneering  demand  of  many  an 
unbeliever.  Eve  sought  it  when  she  tasted  the 
forbidden  fruit.  But  since  then,  thank  God !  no 
prohibition  has  been  uttered  against  the  search  after 
truth,  and  mankind  have  used  their  liberty  with 
great  industry  for  six  thousand  years  ;  and  what  is 
the  result  ?  Is  truth  discovered  ?  How  much  ? 
And  how  much  of  falsehood  is  mixed  up  with  what 
is  known  to  be  true  ?  These  questions  are  constant- 
ly suggesting  themselves  to  thinkers,  and  to  answer 
them  is  the  labor  of  their  lives.  Let  them  have 
free  scope,  ultra-spiritualists  and  all.  Even  these 
latter  go  through  the  same  operation  which  you 
have  just  claimed  to  be  peculiar  to  the  true  spiritual- 
ist. All  do,  whether  they  will  or  not,  make  use  of 
observation,  learning,  and  the  inward  light.  Some 
arrive  at  one  result,  and  some  at  another,  because 
the  elements  differ  in  each.  If  any  two  could  be 
found,  whose  external  observations,  learning,  intel- 
lect, and  inward  light  or  instincts  were  precisely 
equal  in  volume  and  proportion,  can  it  be  doubted 
that  these  two  would  arrive  at  precisely  similar  re- 
sults ?  But  they  are  not  equal ;  and  so  one  comes 
to  believe  in  external  authority,  and  the  other  refers 
every  thing  to  a  standard  which  he  thinks  that  he 
finds  within  himself.  The  latter  is  deemed  by  the 
public  to  be  a  representative  of  pure  Transcendental- 
ism, and  he  is  condemned  accordingly  as  self-suffi- 
cient. 

"  And  privately,  between  you  and  me,  my  good 
friend,  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  rather  ungrateful  in 


142  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM? 

him,  after  becoming  so  deeply  indebted  to  his  senses, 
to  books,  and  the  Bible,  for  his  spiritual  education, 
to  turn  round  and  despise  these  means  of  advance- 
ment, and  declare  that  they  are  mere  non-essential 
circumstances •,  and  that  a  man  may  reach  the  same 
end  by  studying  himself  in  himself.  It  is  as  if  a 
man  should  use  a  ladder  to  reach  a  lofty  crag, 
and  then  kick  it  over  contemptuously,  and  aver  that 
he  could  just  as  well  have  flown  up,  and  ask  the 
crowd  below  to  break  up  that  miserable  ladder  and 
try  their  wings.  Doubtless  they  have  wings,  if 
they  only  knew  it.  But,  seriously,  I  am  not  inclined 
to  join  in  the  hue  and  cry  against  even  the  ultra- 
Transcendentalist.  He  has  truth  mixed  up  with 
what  I  esteem  objectionable,  and  some  truth  to 
which  others  have  not  attained ;  and  as  I  deem  the 
eclectic  the  only  true  mode  of  philosophy,  I  am 
willing  to  take  truth  where  I  can  find  it,  whether  in 
China  or  Boston,  in  Confucius  or  Emerson,  Kant  or 
Cousin,  the  Bible  or  the  Koran ;  and  though  I  have 
more  reverence  for  one  of  these  sources  than  for  all 
the  others,  it  is  only  because  I  think  that  I  find  there 
the  greatest  amount  of  truth,  sanctioned  by  the  high- 
est authority.  To  put  the  belief  in  the  Bible  on  any 
other  ground  is  to  found  it  on  educational  prejudice 
and  superstition;  on  which  principle,  the  Koran 
should  be  as  sacred  to  the  Mahometan  as  the  Bible 
to  us.  Do  we  not  all  finally  resort  to  ourselves,  in 
order  to  decide  a  difficult  question  in  morals  or  relig- 
ion ?  and  is  not  the  decision  more  or  less  correct,  ac- 
cording as  we  refer  it  to  the  better  or  to  the  baser 
portion  of  our  nature  ?  " 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM?  143 

"  Most  certainly !  I  have  often  said  I  would  not 
and  could  not  believe  in  the  Bible,  if  it  commanded 
us  to  worship  Sin  and  leave  our  passions  unbridled." 

"  Well  said  !  And  in  so  saying,  you  acknowledge 
yourself  to  be  governed  by  the  same  principle  which 
actuates  the  ultra-Transcendentalist, — the  moral 
sense  or  instinct,  similar  to  the  '  inward  light '  of 
the  Friends.  After  all,  I  apprehend  that  the  real 
point  in  which  men  differ  is,  whether  this  moral  sense 
is  really  an  instinct,  or  whether  it  is  evolved  and  put 
in  operation  by  education.  How  much  is  due  to 
nature  ?  is  the  true  question.  But  to  solve  it  is  im- 
portant only  theoretically,  for  practically  we  all  act 
alike ;  we  cannot,  if  we  would,  separate  the  educa- 
tional from  the  natural  moral  sense ;  we  cannot  un- 
educate  it,  and  then  judge  by  it,  freed  from  all  cir- 
cumstantial bias.  But  whether  more  or  less  indebted 
either  to  nature  or  education,  it  is  to  this  moral  and 
religious  sense  that  the  ultra-Transcendentalist  refers 
every  question,  and  passes  judgment  according  to  its 
verdict.  It  is  sometimes  rather  vaguely  called  the 
1  Pure  Reason ' ;  but  that  is  only  a  term,  hardly  a 
'mouthful  of  articulate  wind.'  " 

"You  and  I  shall  agree  very  well  together,  I  see," 
replied  my  friend.  "If  we  dispute  at  all,  it  will  be 
foolishly  about  the  meaning  of  a  word.  All  the 
world  have  been  doing  that  ever  since  the  confusion 
of  tongues  at  Babel.  That  great  event  propheti- 
cally shadowed  forth  the  future ;  for  now,  as  then, 
the  confusion  and  disputation  are  greatest  when  we 
are  striving  most  earnestly  to  reach  heaven  by  our 


144  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM  ? 

earth-built  contrivances.  We  may  thence  draw  a 
lesson,  not  to  be  too  aspiring  for  our  means ;  for 
our  inevitable  failure  only  makes  us  the  more  ridic- 
ulous, the  higher  the  position  we  seem  to  have 
attained." 

"  Very  true  ;  but  we  should  never  arrive  at  the 
height  of  wisdom,  which  consists  in  knowing  our 
own  ignorance  and  weakness,  unless  we  made  full 
trial  of  our  powers.  The  fall  of  which  you  speak 
should  give  us  a  modesty  not  to  be  otherwise  ob- 
tained, and  make  us  very  careful  how  we  cast  ridicule 
upon  others,  seeing  how  open  to  it  we  ourselves  are. 
Every  man  may  build  his  tower  of  Babel,  and,  if  he 
make  a  right  use  of  his  failure,  may  in  the  end  be 
nearer  heaven  than  if  he  had  never  made  the  at- 
tempt. Ridicule  is  no  argument,  and  should  only 
be  used  by  way  of  a  jeu  d'esprit,  and  never  on  sol- 
emn subjects.  It  is  very  hard,  I  know,  for  one  who 
has  mirthfulness  strongly  developed  to  restrain  him- 
self on  all  occasions,  and  what  is  solemn  to  one 
may  not  be  so  'to  another ;  hence  we  should  be  very 
charitable  to  all,  —  alike  to  the  bigots,  the  dreamers, 
and  the  laughers,  to  the  builders  of  theoretic  Babel- 
towers,  and  the  grovellers  on  the  low  earth." 

"  There  is  one  kind  of  Transcendentalism,"  replied 
my  friend,  "  which  you  have  not  noticed  particular- 
ly, which  consists  in  believing  in  nothing  except  the 
spiritual  existence  of  the  unbeliever  himself,  and 
hardly  that.  It  believes  not  in  the  external  world 
at  all." 

"  If  you  are  on  that  ground,  I  have  done.     To  talk 


WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM  ?  145 

of  that  would  be  wasting  our  time  on  nothing,  —  or 
<  our  eternity,'  for  with  that  sect  time  is  altogether 
a  delusion.  It  may  be  true ;  but  the  believer,  even 
in  the  act  of  declaring  his  faith,  must  practically 
prove  himself  persuaded  of  the  falsity  of  his  doc- 
trine." 

"  You  wanted  a  short  name  for  Transcendental- 
ism ;  if  a  long  one  will  make  this  modification  of  it 
more  odious,  let  us  call  it  IncomprehensiUlityosity- 
ivityalityationmentnessism  !  " 

My  friend  said  this  with  a  face  nearly  as  long  as 
the  word,  made  a  low  bow,  and  departed.  I  took 
my  pen,  and  reduced  our  conversation  to  writing.  I 
hope  by  this  time  that  the  reader  has  a  very  lucid  an- 
swer to  give  to  the  question,  What  is  Transcenden- 
talism 1  It  will  be  a  miracle,  if  he  can  see  one  inch 
farther  into  the  fog-bank  than  before.  I  should  like 
to  take  back  the  boast  made  in  the  beginning  of  this 
paper,  that  in  five  minutes  I  could  prove  any  reason- 
able man  a  Transcendentalist.  My  friend  disconcert- 
ed my  plan  of  battle,  by  taking  command  of  the 
enemy's  forces,  instead  of  allowing  me  to  marshal 
them  on  paper  to  suit  myself ;  and  so  a  mere  friendly 
joust  ensued,  instead  of  the  utter  demolition  of  my 
adversary,  which  I  had  intended. 

And  this  little  circumstance  has  led  me  to  think 
what  a  miserable  business  controversialists  would 
make  of  it,  if  each  had  his  opponent  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  pointing  out  flaws  in  his  arguments, 
suggesting  untimely  truths,  and  putting  every  possi- 
ble impediment  in  the  path  of  his  logic ;  and  if, 
13 


146  WHAT    IS    TRANSCENDENTALISM? 

moreover,  he  were  obliged  to  mend  every  flaw,  prove 
every  such  truth  a  falsehood,  and  remove  every  im- 
pediment, before  he  could  advance  a  step.  Were 
such  the  case,  how  much  less  would  there  be  of 
fine-spun  theory  and  specious  argument !  how  much 
more  of  practical  truth  !  — always  supposing  that  the 
logical  combatants  did  not  lose  their  patience,  and  re- 
sort to  material  means  and  knock-down  arguments ; 
of  which,  judging  by  the  spirit  sometimes  manifest- 
ed in  theological  controversies,  there  would  really 
seem  to  be  some  danger.  O,  it  is  a  very  easy  thing 
to  sit  in  one's  study  and  demolish  an  opponent,  who, 
after  all,  is  generally  no  opponent  at  all,  but  only  a 
man  of  straw,  dressed  up  for  the  occasion  with  a  few 
purposely  tattered  shreds  of  the  adversary's  cast-off 
garments ! 

NOTE  BY  THE  "FRIEND." — The  foregoing  is  a 
correct  sketch  of  our  conversations,  especially  as  the 
reporter  has,  like  his  Congressional  brother,  corrected 
most  of  the  bad  grammar,  and  left  out  some  of  the 
vulgarisms  and  colloquialisms,  and  given  me  the 
better  side  of  the  argument  in  the  last  conversation ; 
it  is  very  correct.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ques- 
tion put  at  the  commencement  is  as  far  from  being 
solved  as  ever.  It  is  as  difficult  to  be  answered 
as  the  question,  What  is  Christianity  ?  to  which 
every  sect  will  return  a  different  reply,  and  each 
prove  all  the  others  wrong. 


PASSAGES    FROM   MY   NOTE-BOOK.* 


BY    AN    INVOLUNTARY    RECLUSE. 


MAY  16TH.  —  A  beautiful  day  !  The  sky  is  blue  ; 
the  earth  is  green ;  the  trees  are  putting  forth  their 
first  leaves,  with  here  and  there  a  blushing  or  snowy 
blossom ;  the  air  is  balmy  from  the  west ;  the  birds 
are  singing  gayly  during  the  intermissions  in  their 
labors  of  nest-building ;  all  nature  is  busy,  and 
beautiful,  and  happy.  How  am  I?  I  was  happy 
when  I  awoke,  and  for  some  time  after ;  but  as  I 
was  sitting  on  my  bedside,  and  quite  near  the  win- 
dow, the  latter  was  opened,  and  I  saw  how  brightly 
every  thing  looked  out  of  doors,  felt  the  soft  wind 
on  my  cheek,  and  heard  the  cheery  notes  of  the 
birds.  They  appealed  to  memory;  they  called  up 
forgotten  or  dimly  recollected  feelings  and  scenes  ; 
they  raised  the  ghost  of  my  former  self,  and  made 
me  long  once  more  to  be  free,  —  to  roam  over  the 
earth,  to  sail  over  the  waters,  to  climb  the  trees, 
swim  in  the  rivers,  gallop  over  the  plain,  or  plunge 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  July,  1844. 


148  PASSAGES    FROM    MY    NOTE-BOOK. 

into  the  surf  of  the  ocean-beach !  I  longed  to  par- 
take again  unrestrainedly  of  outward  and  animal 
life  ;  and  thought  wistfully  of  the  spiritual  food  also 
which  might  thus  be  gathered.  Man  was  not 
made  to  live  in  a  chamber,  and  subsist  wholly  on 
the  bolted  flour  of  intellectual  aliment,  —  books  ;  he 
needs  to  labor  and  struggle  for  his  soul's  food  in  the 
broad  field  of  the  outward  world,  and  to  swallow  it, 
Graham-like,  bran  and  all !  "  Ah !  "  thought  I,  "  with 
what  a  different  eye  should  I  now  look  on  the  won- 
ders of  God's  world  !  After  years  of  confinement,  it 
would  appear  to  me  as  a  new  creation.  Even  thus 
does  it  strike  me  now,  as  I  catch  but  this  partial  and 
restricted  glimpse  of  its  glories.  O  that  I  had  bet- 
ter improved  my  opportunities  when  I  was  in  the 
world !  Give  me  back  my  youth,  give  me  back 
my  health,  and  I  will  render  a  better  account  of 
the  future  than  I  can  of  the  past."  ("Bold  mor- 
tal!" whispered  a  mysterious  voice.)  Thus  I 
thought ;  thus  I  longed ;  my  equanimity  was  dis- 
turbed ;  my  chamber  looked  gloomy  and  narrow,  — 
my  old  chamber,  at  the  thought  of  leaving  which 
I  once  wept.  I  became  discontented ;  I  felt  unhap- 
py. Seat  me  in  my  chair  ;  shut  down  the  window, 
and  turn  my  back  to  it;  truly,  "comparisons  are 
odious." 

The  ghost  is  laid,  and  I  am  myself  again ;  my 
present,  not  my  former  self;  I  hear  that  same  mys- 
terious voice  saying,  "It  is  not  so  bad,  after  all,  to 
live  in  a  chamber,  and  have  the  quintessence  of  all 
things  brought  in  the  shape  of  books,  and  laid  on 


PASSAGES    FROM    MY    NOTE-BOOK.  149 

your  table.  Out  in  the  world  there  is  nothing  to  be 
found  but l  sour  grapes  ' ;  but  it  is  only  the  eau  de  vie 
distilled  from  them  that  ever  reaches  you.  Never 
desire  that  which  cannot  be  obtained.  Resign  your- 
self to  Providence,  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can  be." 

MAT  18xH.  —  O  the  green  and  flowery  meadows  ; 
the  groves,  melodious  with  birds  and  redolent  of 
perfume ;  the  dark  pine  woods,  with  their  solemn 
and  eternally  whispered  hush  !  How  do  I  long  once 
more  to  roam  over  them  and  through  them !  It  is 
impossible  to  do  it  bodily,  and  I  will  not  repine 
thereat,  but  desire  rather  to  be  thankful  that  the 
mind  is  free,  that  I  am  yet  able  to  roam  in  the 
spirit.  Memory,  conjure  up  the  beautiful  Past ! 
Present  reality,  vanish !  Past  reality,  become  pres- 
ent !  And,  O  beloved  Imagination !  take  me  by 
the  arm  and  let  us  once  again  wander,  and  adore 
Nature  and  her  God.  Yet  it  is  no  wandering, 
devious  though  the  path  may  seem ;  for,  rambling 
thus  in  the  right  spirit,  we  are  on  the  straight  road 
to  heaven.  Now  to  the  past ! 

IT  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord.  We  are  far  away 
from  church  or  meeting-house,  but  this  blue  sky 
shall  be  our  cathedral  dome,  these  sweet  birds  our 
choir,  this  boat  shall  be  our  pew,  and  all  nature  our 
prayer-book  and  sermon.  Step  with  me  into  this 
light  skiff,  thou  who  lovest  Nature  in  her  quietness. 
There  is  no  breeze ;  the  waters  of  the  stream  are 
like  a  mirror  j  and  as  we  pass  along,  hardly  dipping 
the  paddle  once  in  the  space  of  a  [minute,  look  at 
13* 


150        PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK. 

the  little  minnows,  scudding  away  as  the  shadow  of 
the  boat  covers  them,  and  then  stopping  to  see  what 
is  the  matter !  And  see  the  long  eel-grass  and 
sedge,  streaming  away  before  the  current,  pointing 
earnestly  towards  the  head  of  the  stream,  but  ad- 
vancing not  one  inch !  When  the  tide  turns,  they 
will  point  just  as  eagerly  the  other  way.  They  are 
like  the  courtiers  of  a  despotic  government,  always 
subservient  to  the  reigning  tyrant ;  or  the  dema- 
gogues of  a  republic,  ever  ready  to  do  the  will  of 
the  multitude. 

Hark !  't  is  the  sound  of  Newington  bell,  calling 
the  farmers  and  their  wives  and  children  to  worship. 
It  has  passed  over  a  league  of  land  and  water  before 
it  reached  our  ears,  mellowed  by  the  distance  into 
a  soft  and  bewitching  treble.  Hark !  once  more  ; 
and  now  we  have  the  bass,  as,  miles  away  down 
the  broad  Piscataqua,  the  deep-toned  bells  of  Ports- 
mouth add  their  solemn  voices  to  the  anthem. 
Nothing  harsh  or  dissonant  reaches  us ;  we  hear 
not  the  stroke  of  the  hammer;  only  the  most 
spiritual  portion  of  the  sound  strikes  our  ear. 
Trembling,  wavering,  swelling,  sinking,  —  it  is  like 
the  voice  of  a  celestial  wind-harp,  swept  by  the 
breezes  of  paradise ;  and  it  breathes  into  the  soul  a 
spirit  of  rapt  devotion  akin  to  that  which  one  might 
imagine  a  seraph  to  feel.  This  is,  perhaps,  "  senti- 
mental religion,"  but  a  little  of  it  is  good  in  this 
work-day  world,  and  is  certainly  in  accordance  with 
this  scene.  Often  thus  have  I  felt  myself  carried 
from  earth  to  heaven  on  those  sonorous  undulations, 


PASSAGES    FROM    MY    NOTE-BOOK.  151 

the  last  wave  of  which  is  even  now  sweeping  past 
us. 

But  to  the  head  of  the  stream  we  are  slowly  tend- 
ing, borne  onward  by  the  gentle  flood-tide.  On  the 
left  are  green  meadows,  with  here  a  patch  of  corn, 
and  there  a  patch  of  potatoes,  with  a  plentiful 
sprinkling  also  of  apple-trees.  On  the  right  is  a 
gentle  ascent,  covered  to  the  top,  here  with  grass, 
and  there  with  grain.  Of  this,  however,  only  tran- 
sient glimpses  are  caught  through  the  irregular 
rows  of  trees  with  which  the  stream  is  on  this  side 
lined ;  first  willows,  then  maples,  birches,  and  beech- 
es, and  finally  terminating  in  an  extensive  grove  of 
lordly  oaks.  There  is  a  strange  kind  of  bird  calling 
from  one  of  those  trees  to  its  wandering,  perhaps  its 
murdered  mate,  for  its  note  is  rather  mournful.  I 
wish  I  were  an  ornithologist,  that  I  might  tell  you 
its  name ;  but  it  speaks  to  me  as  plainly  as  if  I 
knew  the  Latin  for  its  genus  and  species.  There  is 
a  monstrous  bowlder  of  granite  on  the  right  hand.  It 
stands  as  the  advanced  guard  of  the  point  which  we 
are  just  passing.  Now,  if  I  were  a  geologist,  I  might 
fancy  that  I  could  tell  you  whence  it  came,  how  it 
came,  and  why  it  is  rounded  instead  of  being  angu- 
lar. But  to  relate  the  history  of  that  bowlder  re- 
quires a  bolder  man  ;  I  confess  my  ignorance ;  and, 
with  an  extra  dip  of  the  paddle,  we  pass  on. 

There  is  a  clump  of  barberry-bushes  on  the  left, 
at  the  top  of  the  bank ;  the  current  carries  us  close 
to  it,  and  small  birds  fly  from  it  with  a  whirring,  at 
our  approach,  forsaking  their  nests  in  fear.  We  will 


152  PASSAGES    FROM    MY    NOTE-BOOK. 

not  harm  them  ;  indeed,  we  could  not,  without  harm- 
ing ourselves.  The  middle  of  a  large  barberry-bush 
is  a  safe  place  for  a  nest ;  those  who  otherwise 
would  rob,  being  in  salutary  fear  of  scratched  faces 
and  hands,  pass  peaceably  by  a  nest  so  ensconced. 
Here  we  are,  opposite  the  oak  grove.  What  a  dark 
shadow  it  throws  upon  the  water !  What  is  this  on 
our  left  ?  A  pigeon-stand,  built  for  murderous  pur- 
poses ;  and  there,  too,  is  the  booth  of  pine  branches, 
erected  to  conceal  the  sportsman.  The  stand  is 
covered  with  wild  pigeons ;  they  seem  to  know  that 
no  one  will  molest  them  on  the  Sabbath,  for  they 
fly  not  at  our  approach.  Were  it  Monday,  and  had 
we  a  gun  with  us,  they  would  be  off  in  a  twinkling. 
Here  the  creek  divides,  both  branches  becoming 
mere  gutters  ;  but  that  is  a  beautiful  point  which 
separates  them.  There,  too,  is  a  pigeon-stand,  and 
farther  on,  a  little  to  the  left,  is  another.  This  is  a 
famous  neighbourhood  for  pigeons.  On  a  calm  morn- 
ing in  the  latter  part  of  summer,  twenty  dozen  are 
often  shot  in  sight  of  this  place  before  breakfast.  I 
have  seen  many  killed,  but  cannot  boast  of  having 
shot  many  myself.  To-day  they  are  safe ;  short 
respite ! 

Let  us  land  and  saunter  through  these  grand  old 
pine  woods  on  our  left.  Our  boat  touches  the 
strand,  we  disembark,  make  her  fast  to  a  bush,  and 
prepare  to  enter  the  solemn  forest.  This  is  the 
way ;  here  is  the  path ;  take  care  that  the  boughs 
of  the  saplings,  rebounding  from  my  pressure,  do  not 
put  out  your  eyes.  Here  we  are  at  last,  in  one  of 


PASSAGES    FROM    MY    NOTE-BOOK.  153 

the  noblest  of  God's  houses,  with  the  pillars  of 
Nature's  church  raising  their  tall  shafts  around  us  in 
every  direction.  Although  there  was  not  wind 
enough  to  ripple  the  waters  of  the  stream  which  we 
have  just  left,  yet  the  tree-tops  are  uttering  ceaseless- 
ly their  solemn,  mournful,  soothing  murmurs.  'T  is 
as  if  angels  were  whispering  in  the  boughs  above 
us.  The  wood-bird  whistles  mysteriously  in  the 
distance,  and  his  mate  answers  yet  more  distantly. 
Let  us  lie  on  the  soft  moss,  and,  in  Nature's  grand 
cathedral,  worship  Nature's  God  !  O,  how  great, 
how  good,  how  beautiful,  seems  every  thing  around 
us !  On  this  glorious  day,  earth,  water,  and  sky  vie 
with  each  other  in  praising  the  Almighty.  O,  how 
infinitely  great,  good,  and  beautiful  must  He  be 
who  created  all  things  ! 

These  feelings  are  raised  within  us  by  observing 
the  marvels  of  this  small  spot.  Let  us  now  glide 
in  imagination  over  the  whole  earth;  continents, 
oceans,  and  islands ;  rivers,  lakes,  cataracts,  vol 
canoes,  valleys,  mountains,  burning  deserts,  and 
frozen  zones.  Long  before  our  flight  is  completed, 
our  wonder  and  adoration  are  raised  seemingly  to 
the  loftiest  pitch,  and  we  feel  how  utterly  insignifi- 
cant we  are,  compared  with  the  mighty  sphere  on 
which  we  move.  Could  we  live  twice  ten  thousand 
years,  and  be  possessed,  each  of  us,  of  a  Fortunatus's 
wishing-cap,  we  should  not,  at  the  end  of  our  long 
lives,  have  done  more  than  to  commence  our  investi- 
gations. And  this  is  earth  !  A  mere  speck,  com- 
pared with  the  millions  of  orbs  which  circle  eternal- 
ly through  God's  illimitable  universe  ! 


154        PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK. 

Let  us,  in  the  spirit,  (which  says,  and  it  is  done.) 
leave  the  earth,  wing  our  way  to  the  mighty  sun,  to 
the  most  distant  planets,  to  the  farthest  comet  of  our 
system ;  then,  sailing  through  the  immeasurable 
space  which  separates  them,  let  us  visit  the  millions 
of  other  solar  systems;  let  us  penetrate  to  the  grand 
centre ;  let  us  pass  to  the  outmost  confines  of  crea- 
tion. The  grand  centre  !  it  moves  around  a  yet 
grander !  and  that  around  a  grander  still,  and  so  on 
to  infinity.  We  may  seek  in  vain  for  the  ultimate 
centre,  —  the  source  of  all  things.  Equally  vain 
will  be  our  search  for  the  outmost  confines  of  crea- 
tion. Can  any  one  discover  the  boundaries  of 
space  ?  Can  any  one  imagine  a  line,  a  partition- 
wall,  beyond  which  space  does  not  exist  ?  No !  do 
what  we  may,  we  can  never  get  rid  of  the  idea  of 
space ;  wherever  we  imagine  ourselves,  that  sur- 
rounds us.  As  with  space,  so  is  it  with  duration. 
We  cannot  conceive  of  a  moment  which  had  not  a 
preceding,  nor  of  one  which  will  not  have  a  follow- 
ing moment.  Negatively,  we  comprehend  the  eter- 
nal and  the  infinite  ;  but  positively  and  by  experi- 
ence, never !  Then  how  utterly  beyond  human 
comprehension  the  Author  of  eternity  and  infin- 
ity !  "  He  is  past  finding  out." 

Here  we  are,  in  mid  space,  thousands  of  billions 
of  leagues  distant  from  our  own  planet.  The  spirit 
is  fatigued,  the  imagination  is  weak ;  the  Finite  can- 
not measure  the  Infinite.  Let  us  return  to  our  own 
solar  system,  which  now  in  the  mighty  distance  is 
but  one  shining  speck  amid  many  that  dot  the  black 


PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK.        155 

space ;  the  sun  alone  being  visible,  as  a  very  small 
star.  Could  we  speed  toward  home  with  only  the 
rapidity  of  light,  thousands  of  years  would  elapse 
ere  we  could  reach  our  destination.  But  imagina- 
tion is  fleeter  than  light ;  and,  while  the  thought  is 
passing  through  the  mind,  we  are  within  the  boun- 
daries of  our  own  system.  Let  us  slacken  our  speed 
a  little  ;  we  feel  quite  at  home,  although  millions  of 
miles  intervene  between  us  and  Earth.  We  descry 
our  native  planet  in  apparently  close  embrace  with 
the  moon  j  but  they  separate  as  we  advance,  like  a 
maiden  and  her  lover  at  the  approach  of  strangers. 
We  are  now  enabled  to  see  what  a  magnificent 
moon  Earth  is  to  her  own  satellite ;  and  we  are 
taught  thereby  a  lesson  of  modesty,  and  discover 
that  the  moon  was  no  more  made  for  Earth,  than 
Earth  for  the  moon.  We  will  not  visit  the  satellite, 
for  she  has  been  so  overrun  lately  by  Mesmeric  tour- 
ists and  Shakers,  not  forgetting  Locke,  the  lunar 
Munchausen,  that  we  could  not  hope  to  gather  a 
new  fact,  and  should  not  like  to  publish  a  book  on 
so  threadbare  a  subject. 

Homeward,  then  !  We  are  near  enough  to  Earth 
to  see  her  continents,  islands,  and  oceans.  Here  is 
our  own  America ;  our  own  New  England ;  our  own 
Piscataqua ;  our  own  creek ;  our  own  pine  woods ; 
and  here  also  are  our  own  bodies,  which  we  left  on 
the  moss  half  an  hour  since.  They  are  asleep; 
how  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  the  spirit  was  ab- 
sent ?  Often,  while  the  body  is  taking  its  rest,  does 
the  soul  thus  wander  through  creation  j  and  on  this 


156        PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK. 

account  it  is,  that,  while  travelling  in  strange  regions 
which  we  never  before  visited  in  the  body,  a  sud- 
den flash  of  memory  comes  over  us,  and  we  say  to 
ourselves,  "  We  have  been  here  before,  God  only 
knows  when  or  how  "  ;  and  the  next  moment  the 
impression  passes  away  for  ever.  Our  bodies  move 
uneasily  ;  they  feel  that  their  souls  are  near ;  they 
sleep  most  soundly  when  we  are  farthest  away  from 
them.  Let  us  enter. 

Come,  arouse !  —  the  tide  is  falling,  the  boat  is 
grounding,  and  by  the  time  we  get  home  dinner  will 
be  waiting.  The  body  needs  food  as  well  as  the 
mind,  and  it  will  take  a  longer  time  to  paddle  corpo- 
really down  the  stream  in  our  skiff,  than  it  would 
for  us  to  sail  spiritually  over  the  whole  earth. 

THAT  is  a  pleasant  reminiscence  to  me.  Eventful 
years  have  passed  since  then  ;  but  the  scenes  still  lie 
brightly  and  greenly  before  my  mental  eye,  and  to 
no  portion  of  Memory's  varied  landscape  do  I  so 
often  turn,  and  with  such  unfading  pleasure.  The 
dear  tenants  of  the  old  farm-house,  my  aged  grand- 
parents, dust  though  their  bodies  are,  still  live  in  my 
heart;  and  with  the  recollection  of  them  mingles 
not  one  painful  thought.  I  remember  them  as  em- 
bodying my  highest  ideas  of  goodness,  and  love, 
and  simplicity.  They  departed  in  a  good  old  age, 
when,  on  account  of  the  infirmities  which  had  crept 
upon  them,  it  would  have  been  sinful  to  wish  them 
to  live  longer.  One  of  the  strongest  desires  of  my 
heart  is  to  meet  the  dear  couple  in  the  other  world. 


PASSAGES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOK.        157 

If  I  could  be  the  same  simple  boy  that  I  once  was, 
and  live  with  them  on  the  same  old  farm,  drive  the 
same  old  cows  to  pasture,  drink  the  same  milk,  eat 
the  same  sweet  bread  and  butter  and  the  same  lus- 
cious baked  apples,  and  paddle  in  the  same  " float" 
on  the  same  creek,  I  almost  think  I  should  hesi- 
tate to  exchange  my  heaven  for  any  that  I  have 
ever  heard  of,  or  seen  described. 


14 


MY    LEG.* 


IT  was  a  most  dismal  night,  in  that  most  dismal 
of  months,  November.  The  storm  howled  loudly 
without,  and  the  sleet  drove  furiously  against  the 
windows.  I  sat  in  my  apartment  alone,  in  my  easy- 
chair,  before  a  blazing  wood-fire.  There  was  no 
other  light  in  the  room.  MY  LEG,  my  lame  leg, 
rested  on  a  chair  before  me,  with  a  soft  cushion 
under  it.  Without,  raged  elemental  war ;  within, 
all  seemed  peace  and  comfort;  but  it  was  only  in 
seeming,  for  in  the  bosom  of  the  lonely  occupant  of 
that  room  a  battle  was  going  on  between  hope  and 
fear,  as  violent  as  that  of  the  elements  without. 

O  that  leg  !  It  was  the  torment  of  my  life. 
Years  ago  I  had  strained  my  knee,  and  what  was  at 
first  a  slight  affair  had,  by  neglect,  mismanagement, 
and  rheumatism,  increased  to  such  an  inconvenient 
and  alarming  degree,  that  I  was  regularly  confined 
to  the  house  every  winter,  and  constantly  threat- 
ened with  the  loss  of  my  limb.  There  it  was 
before  me,  always  before  me ;  I  could  not  get  rid  of 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  September,  1844. 


MY    LEG.  159 

it.  The  sight  of  it  tormented  me  by  day,  and  the 
thought  of  it  haunted  me  by  night.  It  had  thrown 
me  out  of  business ;  it  had  cut  off  my  prospects  of 
happiness  in  life,  of  usefulness  to  myself,  my 
friends,  and  the  world;  and,  last  and  least,  it  had 
tormented  me  night  and  day  with  bodily  pain.  I 
detested,  I  perfectly  hated,  that  leg!  I  had  tried 
coaxing  and  good  treatment ;  I  had  tried  driving 
and  rough  usage  ;  but  all  in  vain ;  for  "  still  the  leg 
kept  on  "  its  old  course  of  obstinate  and  incurable 
lameness.  It  headed  me  off  in  every  undertaking. 
It  flattered  me  when  idle,  but  if  I  imagined  myself 
well,  and  entered  into  the  active  business  of  life,  it 
invariably  drove  me  again  into  retirement,  with  a 
few  additional  twinges  as  a  punishment  for  my 
temerity.  If  my  fancy  were  excited,  my  reason 
convinced,  or  my  heart  touched  by  the  charms  and 
accomplishments  or  the  talents  and  virtues  of  a  fair 
daughter  of  Eve,  I  must  close  my  heart  at  once ;  I 
must  conceal  my  thoughts  and  feelings ;  I  must 
shun  her  society.  My  bosom  must  be  mailed 
against  the  darts  of  Cupid ;  for,  should  one  chance 
to  strike  home,  what  gentle  hand  would  extract  it, 
and  apply  the  healing  balm  of  affection  returned? 
Who  would  love  and  marry  me  ?  I  had  a  most 
inveterate  spite  against  that  leg ! 

Well,  there  I  sat  j  sometimes  looking  into  the  fire, 
in  which  I  could  see  nothing  but  surgeons'  knives, 
plasters,  and  tourniquets ;  sometimes  around  the 
room ;  but  the  dancing  shadows  on  the  wall  looked 
like  so  many  cripples  "  going  it "  with  their  wooden 


160  MY    LEG. 

legs,  with  which  they  beckoned  me  to  become  one  of 
their  number  j  while  a  grin  on  the  countenance  of 
each  seemed  to  say,  "  Our  invitation,  like  that  of 
royalty,  must  be  complied  with  "  j  and  then,  not  rel- 
ishing this  picture,  It  urned  my  eyes  toward  the  win- 
dows, but  nothing  pleasant  was  there  to  be  seen.  The 
space  just  outside  the  windows  seemed  crowded  to  the 
utmost  with  the  malignant  faces  of  the  baffled  de- 
mons of  the  storm.  There  they  were,  glowering  in 
at  me,  vaguely  terrible,  with  little  visible  save  their 
horrible  eyes.  They  seemed  to  say,  —  "  O,  how  we 
would  rain,  hail,  and  snow  upon  you !  how  we 
would  pierce  you  with  the  cutting  blast !  how  we 
would  stiffen  your  joints  for  you,  and  rack  your 
frame  with  rheumatic  pains,  if  we  only  had  you 
here ! "  Then,  raging  with  disappointment,  they 
vanished,  while  the  storm  howled  more  loudly  than 
ever,  and  shook  the  house  to  its  base  ;  and  the  sleet 
beat  more  furiously  against  the  windows,  as  if  the 
malevolent  spirits  of  the  tempest  were  making  a  last 
effort  to  beat  in  the  glass  or  overturn  the  whole 
establishment. 

I  shrank  back,  and  buried  myself  in  my  easy- 
chair  and  in  thought.  The  current  changed :  Fear 
vanished  and  Hope  triumphed.  I  looked  into  the 
fire  again ;  the  surgeons'  knives  and  plasters  had 
disappeared,  and  in  their  places  were  green  fields, 
wooded  glens,  and  forest-glades.  On  a  mossy  rock, 
by  the  banks  of  a  winding  brook,  under  a  green  and 
graceful  canopy  of  waving  elms,  sat  my  lady-love 
and  myself.  The  declaration  had  been  made,  the 


MY    LEG.  161 

suit  had  been  successful,  and  happiness  was  in  our 
hearts  and  on  our  countenances.  Again  the  scene 
changed.  I  saw  a  noble  house,  a  commodious  and 
elegant  country-seat,  with  grand  avenues  leading  to 
it,  and  verdant  lawns  and  beautiful  gardens  sur- 
rounding it.  On  the  green  in  front  of  the  house 
three  or  four  children  were  playing,  and  under  the 
piazza  sat  a  good-looking  couple,  who  seemed  to  be 
highly  amused  at  the  pranks  of  the  little  folks. 
And  that  good-looking  couple  was  myself  and  my 
wife ;  and  those  were  my  children ;  and  that  house 
and  those  beautiful  lands  were  mine  too,  earned  by 
my  own  labor ;  and  we  were  all  very  happy. 

Just  then  a  stick  of  wood,  which  had  burnt 
through  the  middle,  parted,  and  one  of  the  brands 
fell,  point  foremost,  toward  the  hearth-rug,  and  scat- 
tered half  a  dozen  coals  upon  it.  I  jumped  up  as 
well  as  I  could,  seized  the  brush,  swept  the  coals 
into  the  fire,  and  sank  back  exhausted  into  my  easy- 
chair.  The  bright  vision  had  fled  for  ever,  and  for 
its  loss  I  had  nothing  to  console  me  but  an  extra 
quantum  of  pain. 

I  looked  at  that  leg  again,  half  spitefully,  half 
sorrowfully.  "  O,"  thought  I,  "  what  would  I  not 
give  to  the  man  who  should  restore  that  limb  to 
health  !  I  'd  be  his  servant  for  five  years  j  I  'd  bind 
myself  to  a  blacksmith  for  seven  years  ;  I  'd  trundle 
a  wheelbarrow  three  hours  a  day  during  my  life  ; 
I  'd  do  any  thing,  almost." 

"  Would  you?  "  said  a  voice  near  me. 

I  looked  up  in  astonishment,  I  was  not  aware 
14* 


162  MY    LEG. 

that  I  had  uttered  my  thoughts  aloud ;  how,  then, 
could  any  one  know  what  was  passing  in  my  mind  ? 
I  had  not  heard  the  door  open ;  how,  then,  came  any 
one  into  the  room  ?  "  The  speaker  must  be  the 
Devil  himself,"  thought  I. 

"  Hem  !  "  said  the  stranger  ;  "just  so  !  just  so  !  " 

The  fire  brightened  up  at  that  moment,  and 
enabled  me  to  obtain  a  good  view  of  my  visiter. 
He  was  of  a  perfect  brimstone  hue ;  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  gigantic  yellow-bird.  His  boots 
were  yellow ;  his  trowsers  were  yellow ;  his  coat, 
vest,  and  cravat  were  yellow;  his  hair,  whiskers, 
eye-brows,  and  skin  were  yellow ;  in  fine,  he  was  all 
yellow,  from  top  to  toe,  except  his  coal-black  eyes. 
Such  eyes  I  never  saw  before  in  my  life,  and  hope 
never  to  see  again.  Instead  of  sparkling  as  black 
eyes  generally  do,  the  iris  of  each  seemed  to  have 
no  glistening  cornea  in  front,  but  appeared  rather  to 
be  the  circular  mouth  of  a  deep  cave,  in  which  dark- 
ness alone  was  visible.  I  looked  into  those  terrible 
eyes,  and  felt  that  the  owner  could  be  none  other 
than  Satan  himself.  At  that  instant  a  light  flashed 
up  in  the  depths  of  their  dark  recesses ;  and  while 
I  gazed  more  intently,  I  distinctly  saw,  in  those 
gloomy  caverns,  two  miniature  pictures  of  hell. 

At  length  the  stranger  spake  :  —  "  Well,  I  see  we 
know  each  other;  and  you  probably  can  guess  my 
business  with  you  to-night,  as  you  are  a  Yankee." 

"To  tempt  me,  I  suppose? "  said  I. 

"Why,  not  exactly  that,"  said  he;  "I  come  to 
make  a  bargain  with  you ;  that 's  all ;  and  I  intend 


MY    LEG.  163 

to  be  perfectly  fair.  For  value  received,  I  expect 
you  to  render  me  service  equivalent." 

"That  sounds  well,"  said  I;  "but  what  is  the 
value  I  am  to  receive,  and  the  service  I  am  to  ren- 
der ? " 

"  The  value  is  a  good  sound  leg,  and  health  so 
long  as  you  live.  The  service  is  to  gamble  three 
hours  each  day  through  life,  instead  of  trundling  a 
wheelbarrow  for  the  same  length  of  time.  Certainly 
these  are  better  terms  than  you  had  any  right  to  ex- 
pect j  especially  are  they  so,  considering  that  I  shall 
insure  you  success  in  all  your  ga'mbling  specula- 
tions." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  to  live  respectably  in  the 
world,  and  to  win  the  regard  of  my  fellow-citizens. 
I  cannot  do  this,  and  be  a  professed  gambler." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  "  growled  the  man  in  yellow  ;  "  I 
am  astonished  at  you  ;  you  are  not  the  man  I  took 
you  for  ;  you  are  a  perfect  greenhorn.  There  are 
more  ways  of  gambling  than  by  venturing  money 
on  games  of  chance.  Gamble  in  stocks,  man ! 
gamble  in  bread-stuffs !  gamble  in  fuel !  You  can 
be  a  deacon  of  the  church,  if  you  please,  and  do 
these  things,  without  perilling  your  reputation  as  a 
Christian  or  a  man  of  honor.  I  will  furnish  you 
with  a  large  capital  with  which  to  commence 
business,  and  will  guaranty  success  in  all  your  com- 
mercial enterprises ;  and  the  more  extensive  they 
are,  the  more  successful  they  shall  be." 

In  the  back  part  of  the  easy-chair  in  which  I  sat 
lay  a  small  Bible,  a  gift  from  my  mother  j  I  remem- 


164  MY    LEG. 

bered  it  at  this  moment,  and,  recollecting  also  the 
many  stories  which  I  had  heard  of  the  Devil's  being 
baffled  by  the  Holy  Book,  I  determined  to  play  him 
a  trick.  Not  bearing  in  mind  the  old  proverb, 
"  He  who  would  sup  with  the  Devil  should  use  a 
long  spoon,"  and  foolishly  hoping  "  to  dance  with- 
out paying  the  piper,"  I  opened  the  negotiation 
thus :  — 

"  Well,  old  gentleman,  suppose  you  make  a  trial 
of  your  skill !  I  do  not  believe  that  you  can  give  me 
a  good  sound  leg,  and  I  should  like  to  have  that  point 
established  before  I  conclude  a  bargain  with  you  ;  if 
you  can,  I  frankly  acknowledge  it  will  be  a  great 
temptation  to  me.  If,  after  a  few  minutes'  trial  of 
my  restored  physical  powers,  I  should  refuse  to 
accede  to  your  terms,  you  could,  undoubtedly,  cause 
me  to  return  to  my  former  condition?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  could!  "  quoth  my  diabolical  vis- 
iter ;  "  and  I  have  not  the  slightest  objection  to  grat- 
ifying you.  There,  now !  move  your  leg,  and  see 
whether  it  is  not  perfectly  well  and  strong." 

I  hesitated,  for  there  was  an  eagerness  in  the  man- 
ner of  Satan,  a  glow,  as  of  anticipated  triumph,  in 
his  horrible  eye,  which  startled  me,  and  caused  me 
to  pause  and  reflect.  I  felt  that  I  had  only  to  will 
to  take  one  step,  in  order  to  my  restoration  to  physi- 
cal soundness.  I  revolved  my  scheme  in  my  mind ; 
there  seemed  to  be  no  flaw  in  it ;  and  at  last,  over- 
come by  a  sudden  impulse,  I  moved  my  leg.  I  lift- 
ed it  up,  I  put  it  down,  I  drew  it  toward  me,  and 
then,  extending  it  suddenly,  kicked  the  easy-chair 


MY    LEG.  165 

against  the  Devil's  shins  with  such  force  that  he 
roared  out  lustily,  in  real  or  pretended  pain,  and 
stooped  to  rub  the  injured  parts,  casting  at  me  a 
glance  of  malignant  joy,  which  was  hardly  noticed 
at  the  time,  though  afterward  vividly  recalled ;  for 
at  that  moment  I  seized  my  Bible,  jumped  up,  and. 
after  dancing  round  the  room  two  or  three  times,  to 
make  sure  of  my  entire  restoration,  ran  up  to  the 
Devil  and  thrust  the  Holy  Book  in  his  face,  expect- 
ing of  course  the  results  which  are  said  invariably 
to  follow  such  a  proceeding.  A  howl  in  my  ears, 
and  a  brimstone  stench  in  my  nostrils,  were  all  that 
I  imagined  would  be  left  of  his  Satanic  Majesty  in 
one  instant  after  that  operation.  "  Have  I  not  read 
so  a  thousand  times?  "  thought  I,  as  I  put  the  book 
to  his  nose. 

"  Yes,  you  have !  "  answered  Satan  aloud,  rising 
at  the  same  time  with  a  malevolent  grin  on  his 
countenance,  and  knocking  the  Bible  into  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  room  ;  "  yes,  you  have  ;  but 
those  stories  were  all  lies,  got  up  at  my  order,  and 
published  to  bamboozle  such  greenhorns  as  you, 
who  would  fain  obtain  the  agreeable  portion  of  the 
wages  of  iniquity  without  doing  the  work.  Fool ! 
to  think  that  a  certain  quantity  of  paper  and  ink, 
bound  in  sheepskin,  could  save  you  from  the  conse- 
quences of  sin !  I  know  that  there  is  a  vulgar  super- 
stition to  that  effect,  but  that  is  all  my  work.  Had 
you  treasured  the  principles  of  yonder  book  in  your 
heart,  you  would  have  been  invulnerable  to  my 
attacks  j  you  would  not  have  invited  temptation  by 


166  MY    LEG. 

discontent  and  murmuring ;  you  would  not  have 
tampered  with  me,  knowing  me  to  be  one  *  who 
goeth  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour '  j  nor, 
if  you  had  obeyed  the  spirit,  would  you  have  placed 
dependence  on  the  letter  of  your  Bible.  '  The  let- 
ter killeth,  the  spirit  leadeth  to  life.'  I  quote  from 
memory,"  continued  Satan,  with  a  mocking  air, 
"  and  if  I  am  wrong,  you,  who  rest  your  hopes  of 
salvation  so  much  on  the  letter,  ought  to  be  able  to 
set  me  right.  Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  gentleman  in 
yellow,  after  a  short  pause  ;  "a  goodly  number  of 
servants  have  I  on  this  earth ;  excellent  Christians, 
as  they  deem  themselves,  dear,  delightful  old  scandal- 
mongers, as  they  really  are,  who  go  to  meeting 
twice  a  week,  read  their  Bibles  every  morning  and 
night,  and  would  not  tell  a  lie  for  the  world,  but 
who  circulate,  with  a  rapidity  equal  to  that  of 
Morse's  telegraph,  every  lie  concerning  their  neigh- 
bours which  they  can  find  ready-made  for  their 
use,  and  who,  if  the  story  be  not  complete,  think  it 
no  harm  to  make  the  requisite  additions.  With 
hearts  filled  with  envy,  they  eagerly  spread  every 
thing  which  they  hear  to  the  disadvantage  of  those 
whom  they  fancy  the  world  thinks  their  betters; 
and  they  practically  spend  a  great  portion  of  their 
time  in  mentally  thanking  themselves,  (not  the 
Lord,)  that  they  are  not  like  other  people,  sinners 
living  without  God  in  the  world.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  a 
rich  harvest  do  these  faithful  servants  gather  in  for 
my  garner !  These  are  they  whose  lives  cast  re- 
proach upon  the  religion  they  profess ;  who  neither 


MY    LEG.  167 

go  in  themselves,  nor  allow  others  to  go  in.  Dis- 
gust at  their  hypocrisy  causes  the  voluntary  banish- 
ment from  your  infinity  of  Christian  churches  of 
many  better  people  than  themselves.  These  are  my 
tools  j  yet  they  read  their  Bibles  daily ;  they,  like 
you,  trust  to  the  letter,  and  like  you,  they  are  de- 
ceived." 

I  retreated,  as  Satan  stretched  forth  his  hand, 
struck  with  horror  at  the  conviction  that  I  had  over- 
reached myself. 

"  Overreached  yourself!"  ejaculated  the  Devil, 
giving  utterance  to  my  thought ;  "  you  have  taken 
the  purchase-money,  and  so  bound  yourself  by  the 
contract.  You  cannot  escape,  and  might  as  well 
surrender  at  discretion  gracefully." 

"  I  am  not  satisfied  with  my  leg,"  said  I,  sitting 
down  in  my  chair ;  "  you  may  return  it  to  its  former 
condition,  and  be  off." 

"  But  suppose  I  will  do  no  such  thing !  I  tell 
you,  my  fine  fellow,  you  are  just  as  much  compelled 
to  do  my  will,  as  the  man  whom  I  fitted  with  that 
famous  'cork  leg  '  was  compelled  to  travel." 

And  thereupon  I  found  myself  rising  against  my 
will,  and  advancing  to  meet  Satan,  who  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  He  took  my  hands  in  his ;  a 
sort  of  diabolical  music,  that  might  have  come  from 
Satan's  own  royal  band,  fresh  from  his  infernal  pal- 
ace, struck  up  without,  and  immediately  I  found 
myself  dancing  a  jig  with  the  Devil.  No  words 
can  describe  the  steps  or  the  figure  of  that  dance. 
Such  a  cutting  of  demoniac  pigeon-wings,  such  dia- 


168  MY    LEG. 

bolical  double-shuffling,  never  before  were  witnessed 
on  earth.  The  music  grew  louder,  the  dance  more 
"fast  and  furious,"  and  my  brain  whirled  amid 
evolutions  which  seemed  interminable,  and  which 
my  body  performed  in  spite  of  my  mind.  I  now 
sincerely  repented  that  I  had  ever  entered  into  nego- 
tiations with  Satan ;  I  attempted  to  kneel  and  ask 
pardon"  of  Heaven,  but  found,  that,  instead  of  sinking 
to  the  floor,  the  most  that  I  could  do  was  to  bend  my 
knees  by  lifting  my  legs.  Gravitation  seemed  anni- 
hilated ;  I  kneeled  on  air,  and  in  this  position  I 
continued  to  pop  up  and  down,  and  hither  and  thith- 
er, in  precise  imitation  of  the  Devil,  who  performed 
opposite  to  me,  and  kept  his  cavernous  eyes  fixed 
steadily  on  mine,  while  our  hands  were  locked  in  an 
embrace  which  I  vainly  strove  to  loosen. 

Thus  things  went  on  for  several  minutes,  I  still 
dancing  on  air,  with  my  knees  bent,  when  suddenly 
I  observed  an  expression  of  vexation  take  the  place 
of  the  look  of  triumph  which  the  face  of  Satan  had 
hitherto  worn.  It  deepened  gradually  as  our  move- 
ments grew  slower,  until  at  last,  with  a  horrible 
glare  of  disappointed  malignity,  he  let  go  my 
hands  and  disappeared,  while  the  demoniac  band 
without  gave  a  parting  flourish,  compounded  of 
groans,  screeches,  and  howls,  which  made  the  house 
rock.  Simultaneously  I  fell  to  the  floor  with  a 
tremendous  shock,  and  became  painfully  aware,  as  I 
waked  from  my  dream,  rubbing  my  knee,  that  at 
any  rate  the  Devil  had  not  flown  away  with  my 
lame  leg. 


MY    LEG.  169 

I  had  risen  from  my  chair  during  my  sleep,  and 
fallen  across  the  stool  in  front ;  and  I  leave  it  to 
mental  philosophers  to  settle  the  question,  whether 
the  whole  dream  was  caused  by  that  accident  or  not. 
Be  this  as  it  may  ;  concerning  the  noises  which  sa- 
luted my  ears  on  waking,  it  was  difficult  to  per- 
suade myself  that  they  came  from  any  other  source 
than  Satan's  own  brass  band.  The  roaring  of  the 
wind  through  the  trees,  the  furious  beating  of  their 
branches  against  the  house,  the  rattling  of  the  win- 
dows, and  the  hollow  moaning  of  the  storm  about 
the  corners  of  the  dwelling,  were  enough,  one  would 
think,  to  justify  that  suspicion.  But  add  to  this  the 
slamming  of  doors,  and  the  rushing  up  stairs  of  half 
a  dozen  persons  from  the  room  below,  alarmed  at  my 
fall,  and  you  can  hardly  wonder  that  for  a  moment 
I  doubted  whether  I  had  been  dreaming.  "  The 
Devil  makes  more  noise  in  departing  than  he  did  in 
coming,"  thought  I ;  but  at  the  next  instant  the 
quickly  opened  door,  the  thronging  heads,  and  friend- 
ly, though  anxious,  faces,  set  me  all  right  again. 

That  limb  had  "  offended  me,"  and,  not  long  after, 
I  "cut  it  off  and  cast  it  from  me."  It  is  many 
years  since  Satan  lost  the  power  of  tempting  me 
through  MY  LEG. 


15 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   KITE-FLYING.* 

BY   A    YANKEE    "POOR   RICHARD." 


WERE  you  ever  in  your  youth  addicted  to  kite- 
flying ?  There  is  a  great  deal  of  fascination  in  the 
sport,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  not  a  little  vexation 
also.  There  is  poor  Willie,  going  down  the  street, 
crying  as  if  his  heart  would  break  ;  twisting  his 
knuckles  into  his  eyes,  and  uttering  an  occasional 
"  boo-hoo !  "  that  is  absolutely  touching.  What  is 
the  matter  with  him  ?  I  will  tell  you. 

Willie  has  been  saving  his  pence  for  three  months 
past,  in  order  to  buy  a  huge  ball  of  twine ;  for  he 
was  determined  to  fly  his  kite  high,  this  summer. 
He  has  been  a  week  making  a  frame ;  and  this 
morning,  before  going  to  school,  he  covered  it  with 
a  "double"  of  the  defunct  "Brother  Jonathan," 
made  a  long  "bobtail,"  and  fitted  on  the  "belly- 
band."  He  fancied  it  would  be  dry,  and  ready  to 
fly,  by  twelve  o'  clock  ;  but  during  school  hours  he 
thought  so  much  of  his  kite,  that  he  missed  all  his 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  September,  1844. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING.  171 

lessons,  and  was  kept  in  till  one.  There  was  no 
kite-flying  for  him  before  dinner ;  and  after  that  was 
over,  just  as  he  was  darting  out  of  the  door,  his 
father  called  him  back,  and  told  him  he  had  some 
errands  for  him  to  do.  Willie's  face  lengthened  an 
inch,  but,  saying  nothing,  he  sat  down  on  the  sofa 
till  his  father  was  ready,  and  then  took  his  little 
wheelbarrow  and  followed  him  "  down  in  town  "  to 
get  some  groceries.  He  was  very  much  afraid  the 
wind  would  fall  before  he  could  get  back ;  he  never 
in  his  life  wheeled  so  fast,  or  stopped  so  few  times 
to  rest.  He  was  as  red  as  a  lobster  when  he 
reached  home,  and  the  perspiration  poured  from  his 
face ;  but  what  cared  he  ?  The  breeze  blew  fresh- 
ly, and  there  were  no  more  errands  to  do.  Hurrah 
for  the  big  kite  ! 

I  think  I  can  see  him  rushing  with  it  out  of  the 
yard.  It  is  taller  than  himself;  twenty  feet  of  tail 
are  dragging  behind  ;  and  in  his  hand  is  a  great  ball 
of  twine,  containing  three  skeins  of  "twid-line." 
"  Here,  Tim  Wilkins,  set  up  this  kite  for  me :  now 
then !  "  and  away  runs  Willie,  "  letting  out  line  "  at 
every  step,  as  his  kite  rises.  The  street  makes  a 
bend ;  Willie  deviates  from  a  straight  course  ;  the 
kite  unaccountably  swings  to  the  right ;  "  Look  out 
for  those  elms ! "  He  runs  more  swiftly,  hoping 
the  kite  will  get  above  them  before  it  reaches  them. 
"  Either  stop  entirely,  and  pay  out,  or  else  run  quick, 
Willie  ;  I  advise  you  to  stop.  No  ?  well,  run  then, 
quick !  quick !  it  is  almost  clear :  bah  !  the  tail  has 
caught !  "  Down  on  its  side  swings  the  kite  ;  Willie 


172  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING. 

pulls  like  a  good  fellow,  but  all  in  vain  ;  the  tree 
wont  let  go.  At  last  the  line  parts,  after  breaking 
the  back-bone  of  the  kite  j  the  wreck  remains  in  the 
tree ;  and  Willie  winds  up  the  remainder  of  his  line, 
and  goes  home  crying.  Poor  Willie  !  this  is  the  end 
of  all  his  toiling,  and  saving,  and  anticipation ! 

After  all,  what  are  all  men,  and  all  women  too, 
but  kite-flyers  ?  And  how  great  a  proportion  of 
their  schemes  end,  like  Willie's,  in  disappointment 
and  grief! 

The  most  persevering  kite-flyers  that  I  know  of 
are  the  reformers ;  and  if  they  were  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  art  of  flying  common  kites,  they 
would  be  more  successful  in  their  endeavours  to  ele- 
vate to  a  respectable  position  the  various  kites  of 
reform  which  they  are  engaged  in  flying.  I  will 
venture  to  assert,  that  Martin  Luther  was,  when  a 
boy,  a  "  first-rate "  kite-flyer.  I  do  not  believe  he 
ever  lost  a  kite  on  an  elm-tree  in  his  life.  And  as 
to  Father  Miller,  of  present  notoriety,  I  think  I  may 
With  equal  confidence  assume,  that  he  neither 
Knows  now,  nor  ever  did  know,  any  thing  about 
kite-flying.  The  eager  reformer  too  often  gets  his 
kite  into  some  unforeseen  moral  elm-tree. 

The  kite  is  the  scheme  or  plan  of  reform.  The 
wind  is  the  moral  atmosphere  of  society,  which  is 
always  in  motion  in  some  direction.  Even  when  a 
calm  prevails  down  below,  there  is  always  breeze 
enough  aloft,  if  you  can  only  get  your  kite  suffi- 
ciently high  to  take  the  benefit  of  it.  The  line  is  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING.  173 

necessity  and  propriety  of  the  case,  combined  with 
the  motives  and  means  of  the  actors,  and  twisted 
into  a  cord,  the  goodness  and  strength  of  which 
alone  can  justify  the  experiment,  and  by  which  the 
kite  at  the  same  time  maintains  its  place  in  the 
heavens  and  its  connection  with  its  originators  and 
the  earth  below.  Those  who  fly  the  kite  are  the 
reformers ;  and  the  bobtail  is  composed  of  those 
who  strenuously  oppose  the  new  scheme,  —  the  ultra 
conservatives,  who  always,  on  the  announcement  of 
any  new  piece  of  kite-ism,  seize  its  tail  in  order  to 
prevent  its  ascension,  not  perceiving  that  they  are 
the  balancing  power  of  the  whole  concern,  without 
which  the  new  kite  could  not  ascend  one  yard. 

When  any  set  of  men  wish  to  fly  a  new  kite, 
they  spend,  like  our  friend  Willie,  a  long  time  in 
cogitation,  anticipation,  and  preparation.  I  am 
going  to  suppose  a  successful  ascension.  Every 
thing  is  ready,  but  a  dead  calm  pervades  the  lower 
atmosphere.  Not  to  be  discouraged,  however,  the 
schemers  "  set  up "  their  kite,  and,  line  in  hand, 
straightway  start  off  at  a  full  run  through  the  streets 
and  lanes  and  over  the  broad  fields  of  society,  rais- 
ing a  breeze  as  they  go,  and  carefully  avoiding  the 
neighbourhood  of  elm-trees.  Out  from  their  work- 
shops and  houses  run  the  inhabitants,  to  see  what  is 
going  on.  Some  encourage,  some  hoot,  and  others 
sternly  determine  to  keep  that  kite  down  at  all 
events.  Away  run  these  sturdy  old  opposers  after 
the  kite,  which,  meanwhile,  for  want  of  a  bobtail,  is 
doing  nothing  better  than  skimming  the  ground,  and 
15* 


174  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING. 

occasionally  digs  into  it  head  foremost,  and  needs  to 
be  "  set  up  "  again. 

Just  at  this  moment  up  comes  Tom,  and  seizes 
the  kite  by  its  lower  extremity,  determined  to  keep 
it  down.  But  the  kite,  finding  itself  in  some  meas- 
ure balanced,  rises  and  takes  him  off  his  legs.  With 
desperate  gripe,  Dick  seizes  Tom  by  his  ancles,  and 
is  carried  up  also.  Harry  rushes  forward,  makes  a 
grab  at  Dick,  and  finds  himself  going  up  likewise. 
The  kite  is  getting  a  respectable  bobtail.  A  dozen 
more  string  themselves  on ;  the  kite  only  ascends 
the  more  steadily ;  the  conservatives  are  alarmed ; 
those  below  dare  not  fasten  on,  those  above  are  too 
proud  to  let  go ;  the  kite  is  just  balanced,  and  rises 
majestically  to  the  breezy  heavens.  The  reformers 
may  rest  now,  make  their  line  fast  to  a  tree,  and  en- 
joy their  success,  saying  to  each  other,  —  "  What  an 
excellent  bobtail  those  conservatives  make  !  "  Very 
true,  brother  reformers ;  but  without  those  same 
adversaries,  where  would  your  kite  have  been  ? 
Respect  them,  therefore,  for  they  answer  a  useful 
purpose,  and  are  indispensably  necessary  to  the  suc- 
cessful issue  of  your  scheme.  Acknowledge  your 
obligations,  and  be  thankful. 

Let  us  look  into  the  sky  of  the  Past.  What  a 
multitude  of  vast  and  shadowy  kites  do  we  there 
see  flying !  There  soars  the  kite  of  Galileo,  with 
a  host  of  learned  doctors,  an  infallible  pope  or 
two,  and  a  college  of  cardinals,  dangling  at  its  tail. 
There  floats  the  kite  of  Columbus,  with  the  New 
World  painted  on  its  front,  and  the  Old  World,  and 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING.  175 

nearly  all  its  great  men,  strung  together  on  its  mag- 
nificent bobtail.  Higher  and  broader  yet,  see  the 
mighty  kite  of  Luther,  and  count,  if  you  can,  the 
innumerable  popes,  cardinals,  and  priests,  the  im- 
ages, the  monasteries,  and  the  convents,  which  swing 
in  shadowy  grandeur  below,  —  tipped  off  with  the 
vast  and  misty  shape  of  Satan  himself,  who  writhes 
and  struggles  in  vain  to  keep  the  kite  from  rising. 
He  has  a  black  spot  on  the  side  of  his  face ;  that 
came  from  the  inkstand  which  Luther,  when  once 
tempted  by  him,  dared  to  cast  at  the  arch-conserva- 
tive ;  and  since  then,  the  Reformer  and  his  disciples 
have  kept  the  Father  of  Evil  so  busily  employed, 
that  he  has  not  found  time  to  wash  his  face.  Look 
yonder  at  the  scientific  kite  of  Harvey,  with  a  heart 
on  its  broad  bosom,  and  all  the  anatomists,  physiol- 
ogists, surgeons,  and  physicians  over  forty  years 
old  at  the  time  that  kite  was  set  up  hanging  as 
an  appendage  to  its  lower  extremity.  Nearer  yet 
behold  the  kite  of  Washington  and  the  American 
Continental  Congress  of  1776,  with  the  United 
States  of  America  on  its  breast,  France,  Spain,  and 
Holland  assisting  to  hold  the  line,  and  a  long  string 
of  Tories,  ending  with  the  empire  of  Great  Britain, 
for  a  bobtail. 

These  are  some  few  of  the  kite-flying  schemes 
which  have  proved  successful ;  but  let  not  the  ardent 
reformer  imagine,  that,  because  these  have  succeed- 
ed, his  own  will  therefore  be  equally  fortunate. 
These  are  the  happy  exceptions.  On  the  other 
hand,  let  him  not  be  discouraged  by.  the  numerous 


176  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING. 

failures ;  but  let  him  learn  wisdom  by  experience, 
and  avoid,  in  flying  his  next  kite,  the  obstacle  which 
proved  ruinous  to  his  last.  It  is  well  for  us  that 

"  Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast  "  ; 

and  if,  on  mature  reflection,  his  head  and  his  heart 
approve  his  plan,  let  him  set  up  his  new  kite,  by  all 
means.  And  you,  grim  old  conservatives  !  if  your 
consciences  justify  you  also,  seize  its  tail,  and  pre- 
vent its  ascent,  if  you  can.  If  you  can  keep  it 
down,  (as  you  often  do,)  it  will  be  right  that  it 
should  be  kept  down  ;  if  you  are  carried  up  with  it, 
that  will  be  perfectly  proper  also ;  you  will  make  a 
beautiful  bobtail,  and  will,  moreover,  in  so  doing, 
have  fulfilled  your  "  mission." 

Cast  your  eyes  up  at  the  sky  of  the  Present. 
Wherever  you  look,  you  see  kites  flying,  of  all 
sizes  and  shapes,  and  at  all  heights.  Some  are  wrig- 
gling from  side  to  side,  as  if  striving,  snake-like,  to 
work  their  way  upward ;  and  now  and  then,  when 
the  wind  rises,  they  turn  a  succession  of  somersets, 
downward,  until  near  the  ground,  when,  the  breeze 
failing,  they  resume  an  upright  position ;  and  those 
who  hold  the  lines  contrive,  by  dint  of  running,  to 
raise  the  kites  to  their  former  elevation.  Those 
kites  have  bobtails  either  too  short  or  too  light. 
Once  in  a  while  a  bob  gets  reinforced,  just  as  the 
kite  has  nearly  reached  the  ground.  Look  !  there  is 
one  which  has  just  "  turned  a  pudding "  twenty 
times  ;  it  is  close  to  the  ground,  and,  were  its  op- 
ponents content  to  look  upon  it  with  perfect  con- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING.  177 

tempt,  it  would  probably  sink  hopelessly  to  the  earth. 
But  a  mob  of  opposers  are  fearful  that  it  may, 
and  determined  that  it  shall  not,  rise  again.  Half  a 
dozen  string  themselves  on,  and  the  former  wrig- 
gling and  ridiculous  affair  calmly  ascends  to  a  lord- 
ly position,  which  it  maintains  with  great  dignity. 
Look  at  yonder  thing  which  is  continually  making 
bows  to  the  left ;  that  is  a  one-sided  affair,  and  all 
the  bobtail  in  the  world  could  not  make  it  respecta- 
ble. Enough  to  balance  it  would  be  sufficient  to 
drag  it  to  the  earth.  There  is,  however,  one  thing 
about  these  wrigglers  of  all  kinds,  which  makes 
them  very  safe,  though  very  ridiculous  ;  they  dive, 
and  dive,  but  seldom  come  entirely  to  the  ground. 
But  let  one  of  those  majestic,  well-balanced  kites, 
that  float  aloft  as  steadily  as  stars,  —  let  one  of  them, 
by  a  sudden  blow,  lose  its  balance  and  dive,  and 
"when  it  falls,  it  falls  like  Lucifer,"  with  one  long, 
steady,  rush  to  the  earth,  shattering  itself  as  it 
strikes,  "never  to  rise  again."  Such  a  fate  always 
threatens  even  the  best-balanced  political  kite.  It  is 
only  the  truly  moral,  philosophical,  and  religious 
kites  that  possess  a  sort  of  immortality ;  their  ma- 
terials are  imperishable,  and  if  they  do  make  a  dive, 
as  during  the  Dark  Ages,  they  are  always  sure  to 
be  set  up  again,  on  a  larger  and  more  perfect  scale, 
on  the  first  proper  opportunity. 

With  regard  to  the  kind  of  kite-flying  which  we 
are  now  discussing,  an  individual  may  multiply  him- 
self indefinitely.  He  may  be  engaged  in  flying 
half  a  dozen  kites,  and  at  the  same  time  be  swinging 


178  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING. 

at  the  bobtails  of  half  a  dozen  others ;  yea,  his  for- 
mer self  may  be  dangling  at  the  tail  of  a  kite  which 
his  present  self  is  busy  in  flying.  You  and  I  are  at 
this  moment  apparently  engaged  only  in  philosophi- 
cally observing  the  doings  of  others  ;  but,  by  our 
written  *or  spoken  word,  we  are  in  truth  tugging 
away  at  this  or  that  kite-line,  or  swinging  at  the 
bobtail  of  this  or  that  ridiculous  wriggler  or  ma- 
jestic soarer.  Take  this  mnemonic  telescope,  and 
see  for  yourself.  Mind  and  use  it  right  end  fore- 
most ;  and  if  you  see  yourself  in  a  foolish  position, 
and  are  inclined  to  feel  chagrined,  take  heart ;  look 
a  little  farther,  and  you  will  find  you  have  many 
excellent  people  to  keep  you  company.  If  you 
find  me  cutting  a  ludicrous  figure,  moderate  your 
mirth  until  I  have  taken  a  look  through  the  glass  at 
your  various  representatives,  and  then  we  will  both 
have  a  hearty  laugh  together.  "  'Fore  heaven !  we 
are  all  in  a  case." 

After  all,  what  is  there  in  this  state  of  things  to 
cause  lamentation  ?  In  the  moral,  as  in  the  material 
world,  nothing  can  be  done,  unless  the  centrifugal 
and  centripetal,  the  projectile  and  the  restraining 
forces,  are  duly  balanced.  This  equilibrium  exists 
not  in  the  individual,  but  results  from  the  combined 
action  of  the  whole.  Were  all  reformers,  the  world 
would  soon  be  dashed  into  pieces,  through  some 
false  step,  taken  in  the  headlong  race  to  perfection. 
Were  all  conservatives,  what  a  gloomy  and  hopeless 
destiny  would  await  the  race  of  man  on  earth ! 
HOPE,  sometimes  well,  frequently  ill  founded,  is  the 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING.  179 

motive  principle  of  one  party ;  DISTRUST,  based 
often  on  prejudice,  frequently  on  sound  reasoning, 
impels  the  other  party.  Practically,  no  man  is 
altogether  a  reformer,  or  entirely  a  conservative  ;  but 
he  joins  this  party  or  that,  as  his  conscience  and  rea- 
son direct.  If  there  be  such  a  person  on  earth  as  a 
true  philosopher,  who  never  descends  from  his  lofty 
mount  of  observation  and  contemplation,  he  proba- 
bly never  witnesses,  among  the  struggling  masses 
below,  a  single  enterprise  of  which  he  can  wholly 
approve,  nor  one  which  he  can  utterly  condemn. 
But  amid  all  the  quarrels  of  polemics,  the  advances 
and  retreats  of  parties,  the  battles  and  intrigues  of 
factions,  the  action  and  the  counteraction,  he  dis- 
cerns clearly  that  the  great  body  of  society  moves 
slowly  but  surely  on  toward  the  far  distant  Para- 
dise, transient  glimpses  of  which  are  perceived  only 
by  the  prophetic  glance  of  the  faithful  seer. 

Bat  all  men  are  not  philosophers,  and  those  who 
are  most  deserving  of  that  name  frequently  descend 
into  the  arena  of  active  life  and  take  sides  with  the 
combatants.  Not  to  do  so  would  argue  in  a  man 
the  want  of  human  sympathies.  Such  a  one  might 
be  above  man  in  intellect,  but  he  would  be  below 
him  in  feeling. 

Let  each  one,  then,  do  what  seems  to  him  his 
duty.  Fear  not,  —  Providence  is  over  all.  What  is 
right  to  me  may  be  wrong  to  you ;  but  let  us  all  act 
our  parts  honestly  ;  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  it, 
and  I  am  sure  each  individual  will.  Fly  your  kite, 
neighbour ;  perhaps  I  may  help  you,  either  at  one 


180  THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    KITE-FLYING. 

end  or  the  other ;  and  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you 
reciprocate.  As  Mr.  Weller  says,  "  Reciprocity  is 
mutual."  Never  was  the  profound  wisdom  of  that 
saying  more  satisfactorily  exemplified  than  in  KITE- 
FLYING of  all  kinds. 


WHITE-LYING   AND   ITS   VICTIM.* 


WALK  in  arid  take  pot-luck  with  us,"  said  friend 
In  an  unlucky  moment  I  accepted  the  invi- 


tation, forgetting  that  a  fine  turkey  awaited  me  at 

home.     On  entering  the  parlour,  we  met  Mrs.  A , 

who  received  me  very  politely,  but  seemed  rather 
disconcerted  when  her  husband  announced  that  I  had 
dropped  in  to  dine  with  them.  I  turned  away  to 
give  her  time  to  recover  her  equanimity,  but  in  the 
opposite  glass  saw  her  dart  a  reproachful  look  at  her 
spouse,  accompanied  with  a  gesture  of  vexation  ;  and 
at  the  same  time  I  saw  him  elevate  his  hand  in  an 
imploring  attitude,  and  cast  at  her  a  beseeching  look. 
All  this  was  seen  at  a  single  glance  ;  but  it  was  suf- 
ficient. I  was  miserable  from  that  moment.  I 
thought  of  the  turkey,  and  said  to  myself,  —  "  What 
a  goose,  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before  !  "  But  what 
could  I  do  ?  It  was  plain  that  the  good-wife  had  only 
a  poor  dinner  to  offer  me,  and  was  greatly  mortified 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  November,  1844. 

16 


182  WHITE-LYING    AND    ITS    VICTIM. 

thereat.  I  pretended  to  be  looking  at  some  engrav- 
ings on  the  centre-table,  but  was  all  the  while  trying 
to  invent  a  scheme  by  which  to  extricate  myself 
from  my  unpleasant  position,  and  had  nearly  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  would  suddenly  pretend  to 
recollect  a  previous  engagement,  when  a  domestic 
announced  that  dinner  was  ready.  It  was  too  late  : 
in  another  minute  I  was  in  the  dining-room;  and 
11  there  I  smelt  'em  out."  I  was  about  to  partake 
of  a  salt-fish  dinner !  My  heart  sank  within  me 
at  the  thought  that  I  had  left  a  real  gobbler  at 
home  to  come  here  and  dine  on  a  "  Cape- Ann  tur- 
key " !  Of  all  articles  tolerated  on  a  dinner-table,  I 
most  abominate  boiled  salt-fish ;  arid  now  it  was  to 
be  seasoned  with  the  sauce  of  misery  and  the  pepper 
of  domestic  irritation.  "I  must  get  rid  of  these  last 
two  ingredients,  at  any  rate,"  thought  I,  "and  the 
only  way  to  accomplish  it  is  to  swallow  the  former 
with  a  good  grace."  "  Shall  I  help  you  to  some 
fish  ?  "  said  the  lady.  "  Certainly,"  replied  I ;  "  there 
is  nothing  of  which  I  am  so  fond."  Here  I  observ- 
ed her  countenance  to  brighten.  "  Some  onions  ?  " 
"Thank  you,  yes;  I  always  eat  onions  with  fish." 
(Face  brighter  still.)  "Beets?  carrots?  parsnips?" 
"  Yes,  yes,  yes."  (Another  shade  vanished.)  "  Eggs? 
butter?  potatoes?"  "Yes,  that  's  exactly  right; 
you  understand  these  things,  I  see  ;  I  could  not  be 

suited  better.     What  a  lucky  fellow  I  was,  A , 

to  fall  in  with  you  to-day  !  " 

By  this  time  his  wife's  face  was  as  bright  as  a  sun- 
ny day  in  May,  and  the  perturbation  so  long  visible 


WHITE-LYING    AND    ITS    VICTIM.  183 

on  the  countenance  of  my  friend  had  given  place  to 
a  smiling  calm.  I  felicitated  myself  on  the  happy 
turn  of  affairs,  and  the  thought  of  having  made  my 
entertainers  easy  almost  made  me  happy  myself;  al- 
most, but  not  quite,  for  right  before  me  lay  an  enor- 
mous plate  of  salt-fish  and  accompaniments,  which  I 
must  devour  as  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  my  declara- 
tion, that  "  there  was  nothing  of  which  I  was  so  fond 
as  a  salt-fish  dinner."  I  put  on  a  smiling  face,  and 
addressed  myself  to  the  task.  Mustard  and  vinegar 
alone  saved  me  from  loathing.  Host  and  hostess 
were  now  on  excellent  terms  with  each  other  and 
with  me  ;  and  we  discussed  at  large  the  merits  of 
dun-fish,  pickled  fish,  pollock,  hake,  cusk,  haddock, 
and  salmon  ;  also  lump,  halibut,  mackerel,  lobster, 
shad,  and  trout ;  but  we  unanimously  agreed  that 
there  was  nothing  so  delicious  as  the  dun-codfish, 
served  up  exactly  like  the  one  on  which  we  were 
then  dining !  By  and  by  my  friend  brought  forth 
a  bottle  of  excellent  Madeira  and  some  fine  Havanas. 
We  were  quite  a  happy  party ;  and,  when  I  reflected 
that  this  was  owing  entirely  to  a  little  innocent  false- 
hood of  which  I  had  been  guilty,  I  took  great  credit 
for  my  benevolent  artifice,  and  thought,  "  Here  is  a 
case  which  would  prove,  even  to  Mrs.  Opie,  that 
good  can  come  out  of  a  white  lie."  Just  then 
the  voice  of  that  dear  woman  seemed  to  whisper, 
"Wait  a  little!  " 

Just  a  fortnight  from  that  day,  I  received  from 

A a  written   invitation  to   dine   with  him  ;   to 

which,  owing  to  an  unfortunate  repugnance  to  saying 


184  WHITE-LYING    AND    ITS    VICTIM. 

"  No,"  which  is  my  besetting  sin,  I  returned  an  affirm- 
ative answer.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  no  objec- 
tion ;  for  I  thought  it  likely  that  he  was  going  to 
show  me  that  he  did  sometimes  dine  on  other  things 
than  salt-fish.  I  expected  a  sumptuous  dinner,  and 
was  accordingly  very  punctual.  There  were  no 
frowns  now,  no  gestures  of  vexation,  no  perturbed 
visages  ;  all  seemed  smiling,  peaceful,  happy.  There 
was  an  air  of  ill-concealed  triumph  in  the  counte- 
nances of  my  friends,  which  seemed-to  say,  "  We  will 
show  you  to-day  what  a  good  dinner  is."  I  ex- 
pected venison,  at  the  least.  "  Dinner  is  ready,  if  you 
please,  Ma'am,"  said  the  servant;  and  we  proceeded 
at  once  toward  the  dining-room.  I  was  a  little  sur- 
prised that  there  were  no  guests  except  myself,  for  I 
had  expected  to  meet  a  large  company  ;  but,  on  reflec- 
tion, I  felt  it  to  be  a  higher  compliment  to  be  invited 
to  dine  alone  with  my  friends,  —  on  venison.  How 
kind  they  were  !  By  this  time  we  were  in  the  hall. 
"  Is  it  possible,"  thought  I,  "  that  the  odor  of  that 
salt-fish  dinner  has  hung  about  this  place  for  a 
fortnight  ?  It  's  rather  too  strong  for  that.  It  can't 
be  that  we  are  to  dine  on  salt-fish  again  to-day !  " 
My  doubts  increased  at  every  step.  We  entered  the 
dining-room,  my  friend  a  little  before  me,  as  if  to 
prevent  my  seeing  what  was  on  the  table,  until  I 
was  close  to  it,  when  he  stepped  aside,  and  she 
withdrew  her  arm  from  mine ;  and  both  turned  and 
looked,  first  at  the  table  and  then  at  me,  with  an  air 
of  mingled  triumph  and  friendship,  which  was  partic- 
ularly vexatious  j  for  on  the  table  lay  a  dinner  iden- 


WHITE-LYING    AND    ITS    VICTIM.  185 

tical  with  the  one  of  which  I  had  reluctantly  par- 
taken a  fortnight  before  !  The  blood  rushed  to  my 
face,  as  if  determined  to  find  vent  there,  and  then  as 
suddenly  retreated.  I  am  sure  I  looked  very  pale, 
for  I  felt  as  if  fainting ;  but,  recovering  soon,  I  com- 
plained of  being  subject  to  vertigo,  declared  I  had 
not  felt  well  all  day,  and  made  this  "  white  lie  "  a 
plea  for  eating  very  sparingly.  During  the  whole 
time  I  sat  at  table,  I  could  not  get  Mrs.  Opie  out 
of  my  mind.  "  She  is  avenged,"  thought  I ;  "  my 
white  lie  has  brought  its  own  punishment." 

Not  long  after  this,  I  was  again  invited  to  dine 

with  the  A s.  Would  you  believe  it,  L  was  fool 

enough  to  accept  ;  and  AGAIN  a  salt-fish  dinner  was 
set  before  me,  "  because  I  was  so  ill  as  not  to  have 
been  able  to  enjoy  my  favorite  repast  the  last  time  I 
was  there  !  "  How  I  •'  groaned  in  spirit  "  !  Neither 
my  friend's  wine  nor  his  exquisite  cigars  could  ele- 
vate me.  I  was  about  to  say,  in  reply  to  a  commis- 
erating remark,  that  my  mind  was  preoccupied  with 
very  serious  business  matters ;  but  I  thought  of 
Mrs.  Opie,  and  was  silent.  I  tried  to  smile,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  the  result  was  a  grimace.  I  escaped 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  hoped,  as  I  left  the  house, 
that  I  had  taken  my  farewell  of  salt-fish  dinners  for 
ever. 

But  "the  end  was  not  yet"  !  This  was  about 
two  years  ago  ;  and  since  then,  I  have  been  inveigled 
into  the  acceptance  of  no  less  than  seventeen  invita- 
tions to  salt-fish  dinners,  of  which  I  have  no*w  the 
general  reputation  of  being  passionately  fond  !  I 
16* 


186  WHITE-LYING    AND    ITS    VICTIM. 

am  sure,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  I  should  have 
acquired  a  taste  for  them  long  ago ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, my  dislike  of  them  increases  in  a  geometrical 
ratio.  I  have  been  several  times  on  the  point  of 
feigning  dyspepsia,  as  an  excuse  for  declining  all 
invitations;  but  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Opie  has  pre- 
vented me.  I  have  prayed  that  I  might  have  a 
slight  touch  of  it, — just  enough  to  swear  by  ;  but  my 
chylifying  function  continues  as  strong  as  that  of  an 
ostrich  or  an  anaconda.  I  begin  to  think  that  Fate 
itself  is  against  me.  Without  doubt,  I  am  "  doomed 
for  a  certain  time  to  walk  the  earth,"  during  which 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  accept  invitations  to  cod-fish 
dinners  !  They  will  "  be  the  death  of  me,"  at  length, 
however  ;  I  shall  be  "  found  gone  for  good,"  some 
pleasant  night ;  the  "  crowner's  quest "  will  sit  on 
my  corpus,  and  the  verdict  will  be,  "  Died  of  a 
white  lie,  and  a  suffusion  of  salt-fish  dinners  on  the 
brain ! " 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

IN    FOUR    PARTS.* 


SCENE.  —  The  Battery  at  New  York.  Present,  —  officers  of  the  gov- 
ernment, civil,  military,  and  naval,  —  soldiers,  sailors,  citizens, 
&c.  Ship-of-war  lying  in  the  stream,  —  boats  going  to  and  fro. 

PART  I. 

The  Three  Warriors,  —  and  their  Reasons  for  fighting  the  Mexi- 
cans. 

DIALOGUE  I.  —  THE  CHRISTIAN  WARRIOR. 

A.  Good  morning,  friend  ;  I  hear  you  are  bound 
for  Texas ;  how  can  you  consent  to  engage  in  this 
war  ? 

1st  Officer.     My  duty  calls  me  thither. 

A.  Your  duty  ?  Have  I  not  heard  you  at  various 
times  during  the  last  two  years  condemn  the  policy 
and  morality  of  the  annexation  of  Texas  in  toto  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  you  call  the  Mexicans  an  injured 
people ;  and  stigmatize  your  own  countrymen  as 

*  Published  in  the  Christian  Citizen,  November,  1845. 


188  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

ruthless  robbers,  preying  upon  a  weak  nation,  and 
doing  their  utmost  to  spread  the  dark  spot  of  slav- 
ery still  more  widely  over  the  American  continent  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  you  characterize  the  Texans  as 
a  set  of  godless  freebooters,  —  the  very  scum  of  the 
earth,  —  outcasts  from  all  well-ordered  communities? 

1st  Officer.  Yes,  your  memory  is  correct ;  I  have 
said  all  that  and  more  ;  but  it  is  the  duty  of  a  soldier 
to  obey  orders,  and  serve  his  country  in  time  of  war, 
without  questioning  the  propriety  of  the  commands 
received  from  head-quarters. 

A.     You  profess  to  be  a  Christian,  I  believe. 

1st  Officer.    Yes,  I  am  an  humble  disciple  of  Jesus. 

A.  How  will  you  manage  to  perform  your  du- 
ties as  a  Christian  and  as  a  soldier,  simultaneously  ? 
Will  not  the  orders  of  your  Heavenly  Commander 
conflict  with  those  of  your  earthly  general?  The 
former  bids  you  do  as  you  would  be  done  by  ;  the 
latter  commands  you  to  shoot  and  stab  those  who 
never  injured  you,  whose  faces  you  never  saw,  whose 
names  even  you  do  not  know,  and  whom  your  coun- 
trymen have  systematically  pillaged.  You  are  com- 
manded to  do  justice,  love  mercy,  and  walk  humbly 
with  your  God ;  but  you  are  about  to  assist  in  con- 
summating an  act  of  the  grossest  injustice  ;  are  ready 
to  murder  your  victims  without  mercy,  if  they  resist ; 
and  then  daringly  stand  before  God  and  the  world, 
and  call  yourself  a  Christian  !  You  are  about  to  en- 
list in  the  service  of  brigands,  and  assist  them  in  se- 
curing their  ill-gotten  plunder  ;  and  although  you 
detest  slavery  from  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  you  are 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  189 

ready  to  lend  the  weight  of  your  arm  to  spread  the 
curse  wider  and  wider.  Light,  and  knowledge,  and 
freedom,  and  happiness  should  be  your  desire  for  all 
mankind  ;  but  darkness,  ignorance,  slavery,  and  mis- 
ery are  the  ends  and  aims  of  this  accursed  war.  I 
cannot  wish  my  country  success  in  such  an  under- 
taking ;  and  I  cannot  see  how  you,  as  a  Christian, 
can  have  part  or  lot  in  it.  How  can  you  pray  for 
success  in  such  a  contest  ? 

ls£  Officer.  Sir,  you  are  a  fanatic  ;  there  is  no 
reasoning  with  such  people  as  you.  You  are  a  trai- 
tor, too,  and  deserve  a  traitor's  fate. 

A.  Perhaps  so  ;  I  will  not  take  offence  at  your 
language,  for  I  have  spoken  plainly  myself.  Before 
we  part,  however,  let  me  relate  an  anecdote. 

A  certain  bad  man  had  been  in  the  habit  of  pilfer- 
ing from  the  fields  and  barns  of  his  neighbours,  much 
against  the  wishes  of  a  pious  son,  who  often  remon- 
strated with  his  father  on  his  iniquities,  but  without 
effect.  At  last  the  old  man  determined  on  a  grand 
foray,  for  the  purpose  of  laying  in  his  winter's  supply 
of  provisions,  and  invited  his  son  to  join  him.  This 
the  latter  steadily  refused  to  do,  until  he  saw  that  his 
father  was  determined  to  commit  the  robbery  at  any 
rate,  with  or  without  him  ;  he  then,  notwithstanding 
his  piety,  joined  the  expedition,  and  did  his  best  to 
plunder  his  brother  Christian,  with  whom,  by  the 
way,  he  had  partaken  of  the  sacrament  only  the  Sun- 
day before.  The  two  robbers  were  taken,  tried,  and 
condemned  to  the  State's  prison  for  five  years.  The 
young  man  claimed  exemption  from  punishment  on 


190  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

the  ground  that  he  had  endeavoured  to  dissuade  his 
father  from  the  crime,  and  had  only  taken  part  in  it 
as  an  act  of  filial  duty,  when  he  found  the  old  gentle- 
man firmly  determined  to  execute  his  purpose.  The 
judge,  however,  was  so  obtuse,  that  he  could  not  per- 
ceive that  this  lessened  the  young  man's  guilt  at  all. 
And  to  prison  he  went,  accordingly.  Think  you  the 
Eternal  Judge  will  excuse  you  for  the  part  which  you 
are  about  to  take  in  this  unjust  war  ? 


DIALOGUE  II.  —  THE  AMBITIOUS  WARRIOR. 

%d  Officer.  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  We  are 
to  have  war  with  Mexico. 

A.  I  hope  not ;  it  has  not  come  to  that  quite  yet  ; 
peaceful  counsels  will  prevail. 

2d  Officer.  O,  I  forgot !  —  you  are  a  Peace -man. 
Now  I  suppose  I  shall  have  a  lecture  on  the  enormi- 
ties of  war.  But  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  to  me ;  I 
want  war ;  it  will  be  just  the  thing  for  me. 

A.  Why  do  you  wish  for  war?  You  certainly 
cannot  have  faith  in  the  justice  of  your  cause. 

2d  Officer.  I  have  never  looked  into  that  matter ; 
it  is  none  of  my  business.  I  want  promotion  and 
distinction  ;  I  long  for  honor  and  glory  ;  if  the  two 
countries  choose  to  go  to  loggerheads  with  each 
other,  so  much  the  better  for  me,  —  it  is  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  good. 

A.    Suppose  you  should  fall  on  the  field  of  battle. 

2d  Officer.     I  should  fall  covered  with  glory. 

A.    With  blood,  you  mean ;  and  where  your  soul 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  191 

would  go,  the  mantle  of  glory  would  not  cover  your 
sins.  Before  the  bar  of  God,  it  would  change  to  a 
garment  of  shame. 

2d  Officer.  There,  I  told  you  so ;  I  knew  I 
should  get  a  lecturing.  But  it  is  of  no  use  ;  I  hope 
there  will  be  a  war  ;  I  should  glory  in  it. 


DIALOGUE  III.  —  THE  MERCENARY  WARRIOR. 

3d  Officer.  Well,  those  rascally  Texans  have 
brought  us  in  for  it,  at  last ;  we  are  to  have  a  war  in 
real  earnest,  I  verily  believe. 

A.  How  do  you  relish  the  idea  of  fighting  in  their 
behalf?  I  think  I  have  heard  you  condemn  the 
scheme  of  annexation,  and  all  its  aiders  and  abettors 
thus  far.  Will  you  take  part  in  the  war  notwith- 
standing ?  Does  the  phantom  of  glory  mislead  you  ? 

3d  Officer.  No,  indeed  ;  I  care  nothing  for  glory  ; 
I  fight  for  something  more  substantial.  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  be  a  patriot,  either ;  I  entered  the  service  of 
my  country  for  pay  and  plunder,  and  nothing  else 
under  heaven.  I  don't  wish  to  fight ;  if  I  could  get 
better  pay  in  civil  life,  I  would  resign  my  commis- 
sion to-morrow. 

A.  Perhaps  you  would  accept  one  from  the  Mexi- 
cans, if  they  would  double  your  pay.  Excuse  me, 
but  your  language  might  have  come  fitly  from  the 
mouth  of  a  "  free-companion  "  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

3d  Officer.  No,  no !  I  would  not  exactly  do  that, 
either ;  especially  as  those  poor  devils  of  Mexicans 
are  out  of  money,  and  stand  a  bad  chance  of  waging 
a  successful  war. 


192 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 


A.  Well,  there  is  one  thing  at  least  for  which  I  ad- 
mire you,  —  your  candor.  You,  at  any  rate,  make  no 
pretensions  to  a  Christian  character ;  nor  do  you  at- 
tempt to  cover  your  motives  with  the  cloak  of  ambi- 
tion. You  plainly  avow  your  objects  to  be  mercenary. 
The  Devil  will  not  be  able  to  cheat  you,  at  worst, 
entirely  out  of  your  purchase-money  ;  for,  if  you  fall 
in  battle,  your  wife  and  children  will  probably  receive 
a  pension  ;  and  thus  you  will,  in  a  manner,  continue 
to  draw  pay  even  after  death.  I  think  you  have 
the  advantage  of  the  Christian  warrior  and  the  am- 
bitious warrior  ;  for  the  former  professes  not  to  look 
to  his  pay  for  his  reward,  and,  should  he  be  killed,  he 
certainly  could  not,  as  a  Christian,  expect  to  be  re- 
warded in  heaven,  for  deeds  of  injustice  and  blood- 
shed which  he  might  have  committed  on  earth  ;  and 
the  ambitious  warrior  would  find  that  his  earthly 
glory  would  avail  him  nothing  in  the  spiritual 
world.  He  must  live  in  order  to  enjoy  it,  and  he 
might  chance  to  die  in  a  hospital  without  having  ever 
obtained  it.  He  certainly  runs  a  great  risk  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  a  very  small  reward.  Little  honor 
is  to  be  obtained  in  this  war. 

3d  Officer.  As  you  say,  I  make  no  pretensions  to 
Christianity  ;  I  am  a  man  of  the  world.  In  my  opin- 
ion, a  Christian  has  no  business  in  the  army  or  navy. 
I  agree  with  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  that  a  man  of 
tender  conscience  is  not  fit  for  a  soldier.  If  ever  I 
am  converted,  I  shall  throw  up  my  commission  im- 
mediately. 

A.   I  wish  you  would  talk  to  your  brother  officer,  — 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  193 

the  professing  Christian ;  I  think  he  might  learn 
some  wholesome  truths  even  from  a  man  of  the 
world. 

3d  Officer.  As  to  the  justice  or  injustice  of  this 
war,  that  is  no  concern  of  mine  ;  you  must  settle  that 
matter  with  the  government ;  I  only  obey  orders. 


PART  II. 

The  Three  Statesmen,  —  and  their  Motives  for  ordering  tlw  War- 
riors to  fight  tfie  Mexicans. 

DIALOGUE  I. — THE  CHRISTIAN  STATESMAN. 

A.  I  have  conversed  with  several  officers  of  the 
army  and  navy  concerning  the  threatened  war  with 
Mexico.  They  give  various  reasons  why,  in  case 
such  war  ensues,  they  shall  obey  the  orders  of  govern- 
ment, and  join  their  respective  regiments  and  ships  ; 
but  all,  without  exception,  when  questioned  with  re- 
gard to  the  justice  of  the  contest  on  our  part,  refer 
me  to  head-quarters,  declaring  that  to  be  a  matter 
with  which  they  have  no  concern.  To  you  accord- 
ingly I  come,  as  one  of  the  highest,  if  not  the  very 
highest  source  to  which  I  can  apply  for  the  infor- 
mation needed.  Your  reasons  for  supporting  the  war 
must  be  the  best  that  can  be  offered  ;  for  you  are,  I 
believe,  a  professing  Christian,  and  have,  I  know, 
although  a  Southerner,  proved  yourself  under  try- 
ing circumstances  willing  to  stand  by  your  princi- 
ples, though  at  the  risk  of  losing  your  character  as 
a  man  of  honor.  To  refuse  to  fight  a  duel,  in  the 
IT 


194  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

Southern  States,  is  a  proof  of  high  moral  courage. 
I  ask  you  then,  how  you,  as  a  Christian  statesman, 
can  lend  your  aid  to  this  scheme  of  national  robbery, 
and  use  your  influence  in  support  of  this  unjust 
war. 

1st  Statesman.  I  thank  you  for  your  compliment ; 
but  you  have  come  to  the  wrong  person.  But  for  the 
present,  a  very  few  words  will  suffice  to  place  the  re- 
sponsibility of  these  measures  where  it  truly  ought  to 
rest.  I  am  only  the  exponent  of  the  will  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  it  is  the  duty  of  the  public  servant  to  obey  his 
masters.  The  people  have  spoken,  and  I  obey.  On 
them  alone  rests  the  praise  or  blame  which  this  mat- 
ter should  justly  call  forth. 

A.  Have  you  no  higher  master  than  the  people  ? 
"  Whether  it  be  right  in  the  sight  of  God  to  hearken 
unto  men  more  than  unto  God,  judge  ye." 

1st  Statesman.  As  a  private  citizen,  I  should  say 
that  we  had  not  justice  altogether  on  our  side ;  but,  as 
a  public  servant,  it  is  my  duty  to  put  my  private  opin- 
ion entirely  out  of  sight.  "  The  powers  that  be  are 
ordained  of  God  " ;  and  surely,  in  our  country,  the 
"  powers  that  be  "  are  the  people  :  them  I  must  obey, 
or  I  shall  disobey  God.  "  Vox  populi,  vox  Dei." 
What  would  you  have  rne  do  ? 

A.  If  you  are  a  Christian,  trust  not  to  such  soph- 
istries ;  resign  your  place,  and  wash  your  hands  of 
this  matter  ;  or  else  retain  it,  and  use  all  your  influ- 
ence to  promote  the  ends  of  justice. 

1st  Statesman.  A  pretty  proposition,  truly  !  I  see 
that  you  are  one  of  those  fanatical  Peace-men.  Had 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  195 

I  known  that  in  the  beginning,  I  would  not  have  ex- 
changed words  with  you.     Good  morning,  Sir. 


DIALOGUE  II.  —  THE  AMBITIOUS  STATESMAN. 

A.  I  am  curious  to  know  how  it  is  that  you, 
whose  eloquent  voice  was  so  lately  heard  on  the  floor 
of  Congress,  thundering  forth  denunciations  against 
President  Tyler  for  his  iniquitous  plan  of  a  treaty  of 
union  with  Texas,  —  that  famous  "bomb-shell"  that 
was  intended  to  explode  in  the  midst  of  the  Balti- 
more Convention,  and  scatter  the  ranks  of  the  faith- 
ful in  dismay  and  disorder, — I  am  very  curious  to 
know  how  it  is  that  you  have  so  suddenly  altered 
your  tone.  You  were  for  obtaining  Texas,  truly  ; 
but  only  with  its  old  boundaries ;  and  that,  too,  by 
peaceful  negotiation  with  Mexico.  Yet,  amid  the 
preparations  now  going  on  for  rudely  seizing,  not 
only  Texas,  but  portions  also  of  four  other  Mexican 
departments  and  provinces,  you  have  suddenly  be- 
come silent,  and  your  influence  is  exerted  only  in 
favor  of  this  grand  scheme  of  national  robbery. 
What  is  the  cause  of  this  sudden  change  ? 

2d  Statesman.  My  dear  Sir,  it  will  not  do  for  a 
politician  to  go  too  far  ahead  of  the  people.  He  may 
lead  them,  it  is  true,  if  he  can  do  so  without  their 
knowing  it ;  I  have  done  that  myself  often  ;  but  this 
time  I  miscalculated  my  powers.  I  went  ahead  too 
fast,  and  soon  found  myself  obliged  to  take  the  back- 
track or  be  left  entirely  alone.  Ah,  Sir!  I  forgot  for 
a  time  that  I  was  a  politician,  foolishly  allowed  my 


196  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

heart  to  soften,  and  felt  and  spoke  as  a  man  indig- 
nant at  the  injustice  and  folly  about  to  be  commit- 
ted. But  I  was  a  fool  myself,  and  you  don't  catch 
me  in  a  like  predicament  again.  I  have  learnt  a  les- 
son which  I  shall  not  soon  forget.  It  will  not  do  for 
an  ambitious  politician  to  oppose  the  wishes  of  his 
sovereign,  either  in  a  monarchical  despotism  or  a 
democratic  despotism.  He  must  play  the  courtier, 
if  he  wishes  to  be  advanced.  I  have  had  some  hope 
of  reaching  the  Presidential  chair ;  but  for  a  time  that 
hope  seemed  set  for  ever.  Its  aurora  again  illumines 
the  horizon  of  my  political  fortunes ;  I  shall  take 
care,  if  possible,  not  to  extinguish  it  again. 

A.  Your  motives,  then,  are  entirely  ambitious. 
Do  you  feel  no  compunctions  of  conscience  at  this 
iniquitous  business  ? 

2d  Statesman.  None  whatever  :  the  justice  or  in- 
justice of  the  matter  lies  wholly  with  the  people.  I 
have  done  what  I  could,  but  the  people  will  have 
their  way  ;  and  I  do  not  consider  myself  bound  to 
sacrifice  my  political  fortunes  to  no  purpose.  If  I 
were  in  the  Presidential  chair,  I  might  be  able  to  do 
some  good.  I  might  then  afford  to  look  more  to  the 
ends  of  justice,  and  the  opinion  of  posterity  ;  but, 
in  order  to  reach  that  station,  I  must  be  a  time- 
server,  and  look  only  to  the  opinion  of  my  contem- 
poraries, 

A.     Does  that  satisfy  your  conscience  ? 

2d  Statesman.  Not  exactly  ;  but  I  intend  to  make 
up  for  that,  when  I  get  to  be  President.  I  mean  to 
take  Washington  for  my  model ;  I  am  going  to  make 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  197 

one  of  the  best  Presidents  that  ever  graced  this  re- 
public ;  I  am,  upon  my  honor !  and  you  may  tell  all 
your  friends  so.  Only  elect  me  President,  and  you 
will  never  have  occasion  to  repent  of  it.  I  have 
some  sins  to  answer  for,  and  I  intend  to  atone  for 
them  all  then.  O,  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to 
have  the  power,  as  well  as  the  will,  to  do  good  !  I 
wish  you  a  very  good  morning,  Sir. 

A.  (solus).  Ah  !  I  am  afraid  to  trust  him  ;  he  is 
too  much  of  a  time-server.  I  wonder  if  he  talks  so 
good  to  a  half-horse,  half-alligator  Westerner,  with 
his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  bound  for  Texas.  I  suspect 
that  he  keeps  different  kinds  of  bait  in  his  pocket,  to 
suit  all  sorts  of  gudgeons. 


DIALOGUE  III.  —  THE  MERCENARY  STATESMAN. 

A.  Your  face  looks  bright  this  morning,  friend. 
You  seem  to  be  pleased  at  all  these  preparations  for 
war. 

3d  Statesman  (rubbing  his  hands).  My  Texas 
bonds  and  Texas  land-scrip  will  now  be  worth  some- 
thing ;  I  shall  make  my  fortune  out  of  this ;  why 
should  not  my  face  look  bright  ? 

A.  You  seem  to  look  at  the  thing  in  a  business 
point  of  view,  entirely.  You  speak  rather  unguard- 
edly, however.  One  might  suppose  from  your  lan- 
guage, that  the  support  which  you  have  rendered  to 
the  scheme  of  annexation  had  been  bought  and  paid 
for.  I  do  not  mean  to  hint  at  such  a  thought,  how- 
ever. 

17* 


198  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

'3d  Statesman  (with  a  sinister  smile).  O.  of 
.course  not ! 

A.  But  have  you  no  consideration  for  the  justice 
or  injustice  of  our  cause  ? 

3d  Statesman.  I  have  no  time  to  think  of  that ; 
it  is  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  attend  to  my  own  busi- 
ness. Go  and  talk  to  the  people  about  the  justice  of 
the  war.  I  should  be  a  fool  not  to  improve  the  ad- 
vantages of  my  position.  I  saw  from  the  beginning 
that  the  people  were  determined  to  have  Texas,  and 
I  knew  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  stem  the 
current.  I  confess,  however,  that  I  had  no  great  de- 
sire to  do  so.  "  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men," 
&c. ;  this  tide  I  have  "  taken  at  the  flood,"  and,  if  it 
does  not  "  lead  on  to  fortune,"  I  am  mistaken. 
Good  morning,  Sir. 


PART  in. 

The  Five    Citizens,  —  and  why  they  upheld  the   Statesmen   who 
ordered  the  Warriors  to  fight  the  Mexicans. 

DIALOGUE  I. — THE  CHRISTIAN  CITIZENS. 

A.  I  asked  the  warriors,  why  they  were  going  to 
fight  the  Mexicans.  They  gave  various  reasons  ;  but 
the  chief  one  was,  that  the  government  command- 
ed them.  I  asked  the  members  of  the  government, 
and  the  head  politicians,  why  they  commanded  the 
officers  to  fight  the  Mexicans.  They  declared  that 
the  people  ordered  them  to  do  so  ;  they  were  their 
servants,  and  must  obey  them.  You  rank  among  the 


WAR   WITH    MEXICO.  199 

most  respectable  of  our  citizens,  and  are,  I  believe, 
professors  of  religion  ;  yet,  if  I  have  heard  aright, 
you  uphold  the  government  in  the  course  it  is  pursu- 
ing, and  helped  to  form  the  public  opinion  on  which 
the  action  of  the  government  is  founded.  Will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  your  reasons  for  so  doing  ? 

1st  Citizen.  I  have  no  objection  at  all  to  do  so. 
I  am  a  Southerner,  and  am  interested  in  upholding 
the  divine  institution  of  slavery.  That  institution, 
Sir,  was  ordained  by  God,  when  he  declared  that 
Canaan  should  be  a  servant  in  the  house  of  Japheth. 
Governors  McDuffie  and  Hammond  have  proved 
that  beyond  a  doubt;  and  some  dozen  of  your 
Northern  clergymen,  in  elaborate  publications,  have 
done  the  same  thing.  This  ought  to  satisfy  any 
body  but  a  heretic ;  and,  Sir,  when  I  behold  your 
Northern  fanatics  endeavouring  to  pull  down  this  ven- 
erable institution,  established  by  Jehovah,  and  sanc- 
tioned by  all  the  prophets  and  apostles  of  our  holy 
religion,  my  heart  is  filled  with  indignation,  and, 
were  I  not  a  Christian,  I  would  almost  consent  to  see 
those  fellows  burned  alive,  as  some  of  our  people 
threaten  to  have  them,  if  they  catch  them  south  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  Well,  Sir,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent the  desecration  intended,  it  is  necessary  that  we 
should  render  the  South  politically  stronger  than  the 
North.  This  can  be  done  only  by  annexing  Texas. 
There  are  many  reasons  for  taking  this  important 
step ;  but  if  there  were  no  other,  this  alone  would  be 
sufficient  to  justify  me  in  upholding  the  government 
at  the  present  crisis.  I  must  say,  however,  that  my 


200  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

heart  warms  with  a  glow  of  philanthropic  satisfaction, 
as  I  contemplate  the  inestimable  blessings  which  we 
are  about  to  bestow  upon,  as  well  as  receive  from, 
Texas,  —  the  free  institutions,  the  civil  and  religious 
liberty,  and  the  high  civilization  of  our  own  country. 
When  I  say  Texas,  I  mean,  of  course,  all  those 
adjoining  Mexican  provinces  which  we  may  incor- 
porate with  Texas  proper,  and  which  are  now  set- 
tled by  descendants  of  the  Spaniards, — poor,  be- 
nighted creatures  !  deprived  at  present  of  the  in- 
vigorating influence  of  that  precious  boon  of  Provi- 
dence,—  domestic  slavery.  (Exit  1st  Citizen.) 
(Enter  2d  Citizen.) 

2d  Citizen.  Well,  well,  I  am  afraid  war  is  com- 
ing at  last ;  I  did  hope  that  we  should  finish  the  an- 
nexation of  Texas  without  bloodshed ;  but,  if  the 
Lord  wills  it,  we  must  submit.  I  did  not  like  this 
business,  at  first ;  it  seemed  rather  unjust,  and  adapt- 
ed, at  first  sight,  to  extend  and  perpetuate  the  atro- 
cious system  of  slavery,  which  from  the  bottom  of 

my  heart  I  detest   and   abhor.      But but 

but 

A.  I  should  like  to  hear  your  reasons,  if  you  can 
manage  to  express  them,  for  upholding,  at  this  late 
hour,  a  scheme  of  the  enormity  of  which  you  seem 
to  have  had  at  first  a  very  clear  conception. 

2d  Citizen.  Why,  Sir,  in  the  first  place,  the 
people  were  determined  upon  it.  They  have  got 
the  country  into  a  predicament  from  which  we  can- 
not withdraw  with  honor,  and  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  good  citizen  to  stand  by  the  government  at 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  201 

this  juncture.  The  tide  of  popular  opinion  could 
not  be  stayed,  and  now,  Sir,  I  see  that  the  finger  of 
the  Lord  directed  it.  In  this  new  acquisition,  sought 
for  the  purpose  of  building  up  slavery,  I  foresee  that 
an  avenue  is  about  to  be  opened  through  which  our 
black  population  will  pour  forth  without  ceasing, 
until  it  has  dissipated  itself  in  the  vast  regions  of  the 
South  and  Southwest  ;  for  this  is  not  the  last  Mex- 
ican province  which  we  are  to  absorb.  Slavery  will 
spread  through  every  one  of  them  ;  no  more  negroes 
will  be  imported ;  the  old  States,  as  they  become  ex- 
hausted by  slave  cultivation,  will,  one  by  one,  rid 
themselves  of  their  servile  population,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand,  will  find  a 
market  among  the  virgin  lands  of  Mexico  and  Cen- 
tral America.  Here  they  will  mix  with  the  Indians  ; 
the  colored  population  will  in  time  so  far  outnumber 
the  whites,  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  keep  them  in 
a  state  of  slavery,  and  liberty  for  the  dark-skinned 
race  must  be  the  inevitable  result.  O,  what  a  bless- 
ed thought,  —  that  the  down-trodden  African  will  be 
able  to  stand  erect  and  say,  "  I,  too,  am  a  man  "  ! 
Who  would  not  vote  men  and  money  to  carry  on 
this  Mexican  war,  with  such  a  prospect  before  him 
to  cheer  him  on  in  the  path  of  duty  ? 

A.  Not  so  fast,  my  friend.  If  "  God  maketh  the 
wrath  of  man  to  praise  him,"  no  thanks  to  us. 
Take  care  how  you  do  evil  in  order  that  good  may 
come.  The  evil  you  are  sure  of;  the  good  may 
never  arrive. 


202  WAR  WITH    MEXICO. 

DIALOGUE  II.  —  THE  AMBITIOUS  CITIZEN. 

A.  On  all  hands  I  am  referred  to  the  people  as  the 
source  of  this  threatened  Mexican  war.  Can  you 
tell  me  your  reasons  for  assisting  to  bring  the  coun- 
try to  this  pass  ? 

3d  Citizen.  O,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  ini- 
tiation of  this  business ;  the  scheme  was  concocted 
among  the  rabble,  the  rowdies,  the  counterfeiters, 
the  horse-stealers,  and  land-steal ers,  —  the  sovereign 
mob,  —  what  we  call  the  democracy  of  the  land. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  what 's  in  a  name  ?  "  A  good  deal,  say 
I.  You  see,  Sir,  I  was  tired  of  being  a  plain  citizen  ; 
I  wanted  to  get  an  "H-o-n."  before  my  name;  I 
saw  that  the  democracy  were  pleased  at  the  idea  of 
acquiring  Texas ;  each  man  felt  as  if  he  were  sure 
of  a  farm  for  nothing  but  the  taking.  This  offered 
too  good  a  chance  to  be  missed ;  I  turned  orator  at 
once,  —  pleaded  for  the  oppressed  Texans,  —  talked 
of  rich  lands,  of  honor  and  glory,  the  stars  and  stripes, 
and  the  spread  of  free  institutions.  If  I  was  not 
quite  as  eloquent  as  Demosthenes,  it  was  no  fault  of 
mine ;  nor  was  the  failing  discovered,  for  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  people  made  up  for  all  deficiencies.  I 
expect  to  ride  into  Congress  yet  on  this  hobby. 
This  is,  of  course,  entre  nous. 


DIALOGUE  III.  —  THE  MERCENARY  CITIZENS. 
kth  Citizen.     Well,  my  friend,  what  do  you  think 
of  our  prospects  ?     Shall  we  have  war  ? 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  203 

A.  I  hope  not ;  it  is  a  disgraceful,  unchristian 
business,  from  beginning  to  end. 

4th  Citizen.  O,  fiddlestick !  don't  go  to  sermon- 
izing now.  I  have  got  two  or  three  profitable  con- 
tracts already,  for  the  supply  of  the  army  now  on  its 
way  to  the  frontier ;  and,  should  we  have  war  in  real 
earnest,  I  shall  make  a  snug  little  fortune  before  it  is 
over.  At  any  rate,  war  or  no  war,  I  shall  come  out 
the  gainer  by  this  business.  I  shall  make  a  hundred 
per  cent,  on  my  Texas  bond  and  land  scrip;  and 
the  settlement  of  a  new  country  always  offers  grand 
chances  for  speculation.  I  have  hopes,  too,  of  a  fat 
office  from  the  party.  Here  is  my  friend  B.  from 
the  South.  Ah  !  what  say  you  to  this  business?  Do 
you  want  war  or  not  ? 

5th  Citizen  (B).  No  ;  I  don't  want  a  war,  if  we 
can  get  through  without  one.  The  sooner  this 
question  is  settled,  and  Texas  ours,  the  sooner  will 
the  tide  of  emigration  commence ;  and  then,  Sir, 
will  come  the  fruition  of  all  my  hopes.  If  I  con- 
tinue to  live  in  Virginia,  and  raise  negroes  for  sale,  I 
shall  get  double  the  price  for  them  that  I  now  do ; 
and  if  I  choose  to  remove  to  Texas  with  my  slaves,  I 
shall  get  a  fine  plantation  for  next  to  nothing,  and 
shall  realize  a  fortune  out  of  the  abundant  crops  of 
sugar  and  cotton  which  can  be  easily  made  from  the 
virgin  soil  of  that  rich  country.  They  say  we  can 
make  three  hogsheads  of  sugar  to  an  acre,  and  a 
dozen  bales  of  cotton  to  a  hand.  As  to  the  war,  if 
we  cannot  get  Texas  to  the  Rio  del  Norte  peaceably, 
and  that  too  very  soon,  then  I  say  let  us  settle  the 


204  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

matter  at  once  by  fighting.  Six  months  of  active 
operations  would  finish  the  business. 

A.  You  seem  to  look  at  the  matter  very  coolly, 
gentlemen,  as  a  concern  only  of  dollars  and  cents. 
Do  you  not  care  to  inquire  whether  our  country  is 
right  or  wrong  in  this  matter  ? 

4/A  Citizen.  Pshaw  !  Go  to  the  adventurers  who 
planned,  and  the  half-horse,  half-alligator  set  who  ex- 
ecuted, this  Texas  enterprise,  and  talk  to  them  about 
the  justice  of  the  proceeding;  —  what  do  we  care 
about  it  ?  Have  you  heard  the  news  ? 

A.    What? 

&th  Citizen.     Scrip  is  looking  up. 

5th  Citizen.     Negroes  are  rising. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  shouted  Satan,  from  his  throne  in 
Pandemonium,  whither  a  report  of  the  preceding 
conversation  had  been  instantaneously  conveyed  by 
a  branch  of  Morse's  electric  telegraph,  lately  estab- 
lished between  New  York  and  the  infernal  city,  — 
not  so  far  apart,  by  the  way,  as  some  people  seem  to 
imagine,  —  "  O,  ha,  ha !  that  inquisitive  fellow  has 
carried  his  investigations  pretty  far ;  but  if  he  wants 
to  arrive  at  the  true  source  of  this  business,  he  must 
take  one  step  more,  and  come  to  me.  I  can  tell  him 
more  about  the  origin  of  this  Texas  scheme  than 
any  of  those  faithful  servants  of  mine  whom  he  has 
been  questioning.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  devil  never  had  bet- 
ter !  " 

4tf/t  Citizen.     What  noise  is  that  ? 

5th  Citizen.  Don't  you  know  ?  They  are  testing 
cannon  at  Sandy  Hook. 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  205 


PART  IV. 

The  Chaplain ;  and  how  he  intends  to  pray  for  Success  to  his  Coun- 
try in  the  War  which  Satan  instigated  the  Citizens  to  uphold  the 
Statesmen  in  ordering  the  Warriors  to  wage  against  the  Mexicans. 
—  CONCLUSION. 

A.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here ;  I  have  been 
engaged  in  making  some  curious  inquiries  this 
morning.  With  a  question  or  two  more,  addressed 
to  you,  I  may  appropriately  close  my  investigation 
into  the  motives  of  those  who  instigated,  and  those 
who  stand  ready  to  carry  on,  our  threatened  war 
with  Mexico.  It  is  lamentable  that  the  professed 
followers  of  Christ  should  be  so  ready  to  engage  in 
the  murderous  game  of  war. 

Chaplain.  Ah,  my  friend !  war  and  pestilence  are 
sent  by  Providence  as  punishments  for  the  sins  of 
mankind. 

A.  You  confound  the  acts  of  man  with  the  doings 
of  God.  Epidemic  pestilence  may  be  properly  said 
to  be  sent  by  Providence,  as  it  is  the  result  of  his 
natural  laws,  over  which  man  has  no  control ;  but 
war  is  a  crime  springing  directly  out  of  man's  own 
heart,  over  which  he  has  some  control,  or  else  he  is 
not  responsible  for  his  actions.  But  we  will  not  en- 
gage in  a  theological  discussion.  I  wish  to  ask  you, 
whether,  on  the  field  of  battle  or  the  deck  of  a 
man-of-war,  you  can  pray  that  victory  may  perch  on 
the  banners  of  your  country  in  this  contest  with 
Mexico. 

18 


206  WAR    WITH    MEXICO. 

Chaplain.  Ahem !  certainly  j  it  would  be  my 
duty  to  do  so. 

A.  Then  I  suppose  you  approve  of  the  origin  and 
progress  of  this  affair,  and  think  it  right  that  the  ac- 
quisition of  Texas  should  be  consummated.  Doubt- 
less there  are  many  excellent  people  who  have  been 
misled  in  this  matter,  and  who  deem  themselves 
actuated  by  the  purest  of  motives  in  forwarding  the 
project  of  annexation ;  but  it  has  been  my  lot  to 
meet  with  very  few  such,  and  of  these,  the  greater 
part  attempted  to  justify  themselves  only  on  the 
ground  of  expediency.  But  here  come  those  whom 
I  have  been  questioning  this  morning  concerning 
their  motives  for  furthering  this  scheme :  and  what 
are  they? 

Christian  Warrior.     Duty. 

Ambitious  Warrior.     Honor  and  glory. 

Mercenary  Warrior.     Pay  and  plunder. 

Christian  Statesman.     Obedience  to  the  people. 

Ambitious  Statesman.     The  Presidential  chair. 

Mercenary  Statesman.     Bonds  and  scrip. 

1st  Christian  Citizen.  The  divine  institution  of 
slavery.  The  extension  of  the  area  of  freedom. 

%d  Christian  Citizen.  The  destruction  of  the  ac- 
cursed system  of  negro  bondage. 

Ambitious  Citizen.     A  seat  in  Congress. 

1st  Mercenary  Citizen.  Government  contracts, 
speculation,  spoils  of  office,  &c. 

2d  Mercenary  Citizen.    A  new  market  for  negroes. 

Adventurers.  Any  thing  for  a  change.  Hurrah  for 
the  gold  and  silver  of  Mexico,  and  a  "  revel  in  the 
halls  of  Montezuma  "  ! 


WAR    WITH    MEXICO.  207 

Satan  (taking  a  long  stride  from  Pandemonium 
to  the  deck  of  the  man-of-war  lying  in  the  stream*). 
To  build  up  my  kingdom  on  earth  ;  and  no  lack  of 
workmen,  either ;  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Citizen.    Ha !  what  is  that  ? 

Officer.    Those  are  the  signal  guns. 

2d  Officer.  Yes,  the  old  sea-dog  has  set  his  pups  a 
barking,  and  we  must  be  off. 

And  so  they  were  signal  guns,  and  yet  none  the 
less  the  expressions  of  Satan's  uproarious  mirth. 
His  favorite  mode  of  laughing  is  through  the  can- 
non's mouth.  How,  from  his  brazen  throat,  on  the 
embattled  field,  he  breathes  out  fire  and  smoke, 
shaking  his  sides  with  mirth,  and  making  the  wel- 
kin ring  with  shouts  of  joy  !  When  the  armies  of 
the  North  and  the  South  meet  on  the  plains  of  Tex- 
as or  Mexico,  ere  they  join  in  mortal  combat,  with 
what  edification  will  his  Infernal  Majesty  listen  to 
the  prayers  for  victory,  put  up  on  the  one  side  by 
the  Catholic  priest,  and  on  the  other  by  the  Protes- 
tant chaplain  !  And  then  how  will  the  merry  fiend 
howl  with  delight,  as  Christians  mow  down  Chris- 
tians ! 

The  embarkation  was  finished ;  the  man-of-war 
weighed  anchor;  with  magic  celerity  the  snowy 
canvas  covered  her  tall  spars,  and  she  moved  majes- 
tically down  the  broad  bay  of  New  York,  —  a  beau- 
tiful spectacle,  were  it  not  for  the  thought  of  the 
deadly  errand  on  which  she  was  bound. 


THE   CHURCH   OF   CHRIST. 


A    DREAM. 


FOR  a  week  I  had  been  reflecting  on  matters 
of  deep  concernment.  Theology,  cosmogony,  hu- 
manity, and  eternity  were  the  food  of  my  thought. 
All  modes  of  religion  passed  in  review  before  my 
mind,  and  from  the  midst  of  the  overwhelming  mass 
of  ignorance,  superstition,  and  priestly  duplicity,  I 
strove  to  extract  the  small  portion  of  truth,  a  few 
grains  of  which  pervade  even  the  lowest  form  of 
religion  which  is  found  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
My  spirit  was  employed,  as  it  were,  in  an  eclectic 
tour,  seeking  for  materials  wherewith  I  might 
build  an  impregnable  castle  of  faith,  in  which  my 
soul  might  dwell  secure  from  the  attacks  of  my  in- 
cessant enemy,  —  Doubt.  Heathenism,  Mohamme- 
danism, and  Judaism  were  soon  passed  over ;  —  they 
offered  no  abiding-place,  —  hardly  a  spot  where  the 
spirit  might  rest  her  weary  wings,  and  refresh  her- 
self for  another  flight. 

O,  what  a  relief  to  the  toil-worn,  storm-beaten 
soul,  to  fold  her  pinions  and  nestle  in  the  bosom  of 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST.  209 

Jesus !  Here  are  Love,  Purity,  Goodness,  Truth. 
Here  is  the  representative  of  the  sovereign  Lord  of  all 
things.  In  him  dwells  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead 
bodily.  Such,  and  nowise  different,  is  God  himself. 
Does  not  the  trusting  soul  long  to  throw  herself  on 
his  bosom,  melt  into  perfect  union,  and  be  one  with 
him? 

His  life,  works,  precepts,  death,  prove  him  to 
have  been  a  Divine  Man,  in  the  perfect  likeness  of 
God,  —  the  highest  manifestation  of  infinite  love  and 
power  that  the  world  ever  witnessed.  Here,  then, 
may  we  find  truth ;  here  may  we  learn  what  true 
religion  is.  In  what,  then,  does  Jesus  tell  us  that 
religious  duty  consists  ?  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord 
thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and 
with  all  thy  strength,  and  with  all  thy  mind  j  this 
is  the  first  and  great  commandment,  and  the  second 
is  like  unto  it :  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as 
thyself.  On  these  two  commandments  hang  all  the 
law  and  the  prophets."  Here  we  have  the  whole 
duty  of  man.  There  is  no  act  of  our  lives,  no  thought 
of  our  hearts,  which  does  not  come  under  one,  or  the 
other,  or  both,  of  these  two  all-comprehensive  moral 
and  religious  rules.  Do  we  love  God  ?  Then  we 
love  infinite  Goodness,  Purity,  Beauty,  Mercy,  Truth, 
and  we  shall  strive,  both  in  thought  and  deed,  after 
the  Good,  the  Pure,  the  Beautiful,  the  Merciful,  the 
True.  Do  we  love  our  neighbours  as  ourselves  ? 
Then  we  shall  be  kind,  forgiving,  helpful,  toward 
them,  and  strive  to  do  them  all  the  good  in  our 
power. 

18* 


210  THE    CHURCH     OF    CHRIST. 

Thus  I  sought,  and  thus  I  found,  Truth,  —  truth 
so  simple,  that  he  who  runs  may  read ;  and  I  felt  in 
my  heart  that  "  Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law  "  ; 
that  in  love  to  God  and  love  to  man  lies  the  very 
essence  of  Christianity.  I  regarded  all  other  doc- 
trines taught  in  the  name  of  Christ  as  non-essential, 
—  good,  if  they  led  to  a  stronger  love  to  the  Crea- 
tor and  the  creature,  —  evil,  if  they  narrowed  the 
soul,  and  led  to  bigotry  and  persecution. 

Feeling  assured  in  my  heart  that  I  had  found  the 
true  talisman,  the  Ithuriel-spear,  at  the  touch  of 
which  all  disguise  would  fall,  and  every  thing  appear 
in  its  true  colors,  I  straightway  set  about  examining 
the  doctrines  and  the  practices  of  the  dominant 
Christian  sects  since  the  days  of  the  Apostles. 
Heavens,  what  an  expose  !  What  a  "  teaching  for 
doctrines  of  the  commandments  of  men  "  !  What 
a  murdering  of  souls  and  bodies  !  What  anger  and 
clamor  and  uncharitableness !  What  wars  and  op- 
pressions !  All  this,  in  the  sacred  name  of  Christ  ! 
Wearied  out,  I  fell  asleep  ;  but  my  mind  rested  not, 
and  uncontrolled  fancy  reproduced  and  moulded  in- 
to strange  shapes  the  thoughts  and  visions  of  my 
waking  hours. 

I  stood  in  the  heart  of  a  vast  and  populous  city, 
on  an  immense  elevated  square  or  park,  miles  in 
extent,  in  the  centre  of  which,  on  a  gentle  eleva- 
tion, arose  the  walls,  the  columns,  and  the  mighty 
dome  of  a  church,  grand  and  extensive  beyond  the 
power  of  my  faculties  to  comprehend.  Toward  this 
central  point  crowded,  in  interminable  masses,  the 


THE    CHURCH    OF     CHRIST. 


211 


countless  millions  of  the  vast  city  which  stretched 
away  to  the  horizon  on  every  side.  They  said  this 
was  the  Church  of  Christ,  in  which  the  Almighty 
dispensed  his  munificent  spiritual  bounties  to  man- 
kind, "  without  money,  and  without  price."  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  I  observed  that  the  different  masses 
kept  studiously  separate  from  each  other  ;  and  the 
leaders  of  each  host  claimed  to  be  the  exclusively 
commissioned  almoners  of  God.  They  spent  more 
time  and  energy  in  railing  at  the  leaders  of  the  rival 
hosts  than  they  did  in  pressing  forward  to  the  goal, 
and  seemed  more  desirous  to  prevent  others  from 
entering,  except  in  their  train,  than  they  were  to 
enter  themselves.  The  larger  grew  the  respective 
parties  of  the  different  leaders,  the  louder  grew 
their  railings,  and  the  more  freely  did  they  pour  out 
their  excommunications  and  Christian  curses  upon 
their  rivals.  They  held  up  pieces  of  paper,  on 
which  were  inscribed  certain  phrases  which  they 
themselves  did  not  profess  wholly  to  understand, 
shouted  out  some  cabalistic  words,  and  declared 
that  all  who  could  not  pronounce  their  shibboleth, 
and  declined  to  sign  their  incomprehensible  papers, 
should  be  for  ever  shut  out  from  the  Church  of 
Christ,  and  punished  for  their  obstinacy  with  eternal 
torments.  Some  turned  pale  with  fear,  on  hearing 
these  awful  denunciations,  and  straightway  gave  in 
their  adhesion  to  the  party  which  dealt  them  out 
most  freely.  Others,  of  stronger  make,  but  with 
somewhat  too  little  of  patience  and  faith,  turned 
back,  saying,  "  If  your  Church  of  Christ  can  be  reach- 


212  THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST. 

ed  only  on  such  terms  as  these,  it  cannot  be  worth 
toiling  after.  If  you  are  the  servants,  what  must  the 
master  be !  "  And  thus  was  many  an  honest  man? 
who  had  longed  to  worship  in  the  great  church, 
turned  from  his  purpose,  and  thrust  back  into  the 
crimes  and  pollutions  of  the  city  from  which  he  had 
made  his  faint  attempt  to  emerge.  » Others  still  felt 
only  pity  and  contempt  for  the  bigots  who  so  freely 
poured  out  their  maledictions  on  all  non-conformists  ; 
and.  finding  all  their  attempts  to  soften  the  hearts 
of  their  godly  opponents  vain,  they  quietly  drew 
together,  and  pressed  on  with  what  speed  they  could 
make  toward  the  great  object  of  their  desires.  Yet 
now  and  then  (alas  for  human  nature!)  a  railing 
voice  went  up  from  the  midst  of  their  ranks,  and 
poured  out  censures  and  reproaches  against  the  rival 
parties  with  whom  they  came  in  contact.  And 
sometimes  the  outskirts  of  one  host  came  into  bodi- 
ly collision  with  portions  of  another,  —  and  then 
blood  was  shed  by  antagonist  Christians  ! 

The  tracks  of  some  of  the  parties,  for  a  long  dis- 
tance behind,  were  strewn  on  either  side  with  the 
mutilated  remains  of  Christian  brethren,  who  had 
been  burnt  or  otherwise  tortured  to  death,  because 
they  were  unable  to  pronounce  the  party  watch- 
word of  the  majority.  Large  companies  of  the 
friends  of  the  murdered  seceded  from  the  hosts  of 
which  they  had  formed  a  part,  and  pursued  a  sepa- 
rate route  to  the  great  church.  Yet,  horrible  to  re- 
late, no  sooner  was  their  organization  completed 
than  they  set  about  slaying  and  torturing  every  strag- 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRITS.  213 

gler  who  came  within  their  reach  and  could  not  ut- 
ter their  new  shibboleth.  These  persecuting  refugees 
from  persecution  claimed  to  be  the  saints  par  emi- 
nence;  they  were  austere  in  countenance  and  man- 
ners, freely  doomed  others  to  the  stake,  the  gallows, 
and  hell,  and  "for  a  pretence  made  long  prayers." 

Meanwhile  to  my  eye  the  church  remained  as  far 
in  the  distance  as  ever  j  it  seemed  to  recede  as  the 
toiling  hosts  advanced.  Though  the  ascent  was 
gentle,  yet  it  seemed  interminable  j  and  though  clear- 
ly denned  against  the  blue  sky,  yet  the  columns, 
portals,  and  dome  of  the  vast  edifice  of  dazzling 
white  looked  down  upon  us  from  the  immense  dis- 
tance and  height,  in  seemingly  unapproachable  sub- 
limity. But  I  observed  that  those  around  me  saw 
not  as  I  did,  but  deemed  themselves  already  at  the 
entrance  of  the  church.  Yet  now  and  then  one 
would  get  tired,  and  return  to  the  city,  which  on 
such  occasions  always  seemed  miraculously  near  at 
hand  to  receive  him. 

My  dream  here  became  confused  and  indistinct. 
At  times  it  seemed  as  if  the  great  temple  enlarged 
itself,  rose  to  the  sky,  and  stretched  to  the  horizon 
on  all  sides,  comprehending  in  its  vast  walls  the 
entire  mass  of  toiling  millions  around  me.  And 
then,  again,  all  this  changed,  and  the  temple  seemed 
more  distant  than  ever.  Then  there  arose,  on  this 
hand  and  that,  strange  structures,  which  seemed  to 
be  rude  copies,  impudent  forgeries,  intended  to  rep- 
resent the  great  church.  Into  these  crowded  the 
respective  hosts,  marshalled  by  their  leaders,  each 


214  THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST. 

of  whom,  in  confident  tones,  assured  his  followers 
that  this  was  the  true  church,  to  'reach  which  they 
had  so  long  been  toiling  ;  and,  with  regard  to  the 
rival  edifices  into  which  were  crowding  other  hosts, 
each  leader  declared,  sometimes  in  pity,  at  other 
times  in  wrath  and  contempt,  that  all  such  were 
false  churches,  and  that  all  who  worshipped  therein 
would  be  condemned  to  eternal  torments.  I  drew 
near,  first  to  one  and  then  to  another  of  these  misera- 
ble counterfeits,  and  invariably  found,  when  close  to 
them,  that  the  mighty  temple  in  the  distance  was 
totally  obscured  by  the  dust  raised  by  the  sectarian 
hosts  around  their  poor  shanties.  But  in  spite  of 
the  heart-burnings  and  jealousies,  the  anger  and  clam- 
or, kind  words  now  and  then  passed  between  the 
rival  sects,  and  there  was  more  love  for  each  other  at 
the  bottom  of  their  hearts  than  showed  itself  on  the 
surface.  This  was  evident  from  the  fact,  that,  during 
the  truces  that  frequently  occurred,  they  sought  op- 
portunities to  serve  each  other ;  but  let  the  magical 
shibboleth  be  uttered,  and  all  was  discord  and  bitter- 
ness again.  The  sects  seemed  to  fear  to  be  too  kind 
to  each  other,  lest  they  should  compromise  their 
principles.  That  their  hatred  to  each  other  was  not 
personal  was  proved  by  the  fact  that  every  new  con- 
vert received  a  hearty  and  joyous  welcome.  The 
points  of  difference  between  the  rival  sects  seemed 
very  small,  and  it  appeared  lamentable  that  they 
should  quarrel  about  such  unimportant  matters, 
while  frequently  neglecting  "  the  weightier  matters 
of  the  law."  And  then  I  looked  up,  and  saw  plainly, 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST.  215 

as  the  dust  cleared  away,  that  the  great  temple  had 
again  risen  to  the  sky,  and  extended  on  every  side, 
until  it  embraced  every  one  of  those  conflicting  sects 
who  had  so  long  sought  an  entrance  into  it.  From 
the  azure  dome  and  green  walls,  everywhere  shone 
out  the  smile  of  God,  and  the  countenance  of  the 
Saviour,  slightly  shaded  by  sadness  at  the  bicker- 
ings of  his  followers,  beamed  benignly  upon  the 
rapt  worshipper  whose  heart  was  filled  with  love. 

We  all  were  in  the  Church  of  Christ ;  and  the  lit- 
tle counterfeit  structures  "built  with  hands,"  scat- 
tered here  and  there,  occupied,  each,  but  a  very 
small  portion  of  the  pavement  of  the  great  temple. 
One  of  these  buildings  (all  of  which  seemed  to  me 
now  mere  baby-houses)  I  recognized  as  the  house  in 
which  many  of  my  friends  worshipped,  and  which  I 
had  sometimes  entered  myself.  I  attempted  to  do 
so  now,  but  so  greatly  seemed  I  to  have  increased  in 
stature,  that  I  was  obliged  to  go  through  an  opera- 
tion similar  to  that  of  the  armed  giant  in  the  Ara- 
bian Nights,  when  he  shrank  again  into  the  brazen 
casket.  When  I  presented  myself  at  the  portals, 
entrance  was  denied  me  unless  I  could  give  the 
watchword,  and  soldiers  were  stationed  to  enforce 
the  rules.  My  dream  here  became  confused  j  I 
heard  prayers  and  hymns  of  praise  from  within,  — 
shouts,  and  curses,  and  firing  of  guns,  by  the  guar- 
dians without ;  I  longed  to  reach  the  interior,  and 
tell  the  worshippers  what  evil  deeds  those  without 
were  doing  in  their  name.  A  party  of  friends  came 
up,  and  I  attempted  to  enter  with  them,  but  was 


216  THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST. 

driven  back  with  curses  and  blows ;  I  resisted  not,  but 
retreated  in  despair  of  effecting  my  object ;  a  soldier 
followed  me  for  a  long  distance,  pricking  me  with 
his  bayonet,  until  I  lost  all  patience ;  love  departed 
from  my  heart,  and  resentment  and  hatred  took  pos- 
session of  it ;  I  put  aside  his  musket,  seized  a  knife 
from  his  belt,  and  plunged  it  into  his  heart,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Die,  wretch !  I  wilt  obey  the  law  of  love  when 
I  can,  but  you  would  not  let  me  do  so."  Then,  as  I 
saw  him  fall  and  expire,  my  soul  was  filled  with  re- 
morse. Just  at  the  time  when  I  was  thoroughly  con- 
vinced that  love  was  the  fundamental  law  of  Chris- 
tianity, I  had  murdered  a  fellow -man ;  and  the  fact 
that  I  had  apparently  done  it  in  self-defence  did  not 
seem  to  mitigate  my  agony  at  all ;  and  equally  with- 
out effect  was  the  consideration,  that  my  crime  was 
in  a  great  measure  caused  by  the  false  organization 
of  society  and  the  so-called  Christian  churches. 
One  thought  only  occupied  my  mind,  —  I  had  com- 
mitted murder.  I  looked  up  and  around,  but  the 
smile  of  God  I  could  no  longer  see,  nor  the  face  of 
the  Saviour  beaming  love  upon  me.  The  azure 
ceiling  of  the  lofty  dome  was  not  now  visible,  —  I 
seemed  cast  out  from  the  great  temple, — clouds  and 
darkness  surrounded  me,  —  I  was  alone  with  Despair. 
I  groaned  and  cried  aloud  for  mercy,  and  in  the 
effort  —  I  awoke,  —  my  eyes  rested  on  the  familiar 
walls  of  my  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  the  night- 
lamp,  and  I  thanked  God  it  was  but  a  dream ! 

Yet,  as  I  lay  awake,  reflecting  upon  the  matters 
which  had  thus  employed  my  mind  during  my  sleep- 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST.  217 

ing  as  well  as  my  waking  hours,  I  could  not  but 
perceive  that  the  dream  was  strangely  methodical,  — 
in  fact,  it  consisted,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  ab- 
stract thoughts  of  the  preceding  day,  reduced,  as  it 
were,  to  canvas  by  a  wakeful  imagination  at  night. 
I  determined  to  transfer  these  pictures  to  paper  by 
"  word-paintings,"  ere  they  had  entirely  faded  from 
memory.  If  my  dream  is  more  consistent  on  paper 
than  it  really  was  at  the  time,  it  is  owing  to  the  fact, 
that  the  inconsistencies  were  the  soonest  forgotten,  and 
the  chasms  occasionally  filled  with  an  afterthought. 
But  the  concluding  portion  stands  unamended,  and 
is  it  not  lamentably  true  to  every-day  experience  ? 
Are  we  not  driven  daily  to  violate  the  dictates  of 
conscience,  —  to  disregard  eternal  truths  which  in 
our  highest  moments  have  been  revealed  to  us, — to 
employ  for  ends  comparatively  good  means  which 
we  loathe,  and  for  using  which  we  despise  ourselves, 
—  are  we  not  driven  to  do  all  this,  and  more,  by  the 
false  organization  of  society  and  of  the  self-styled 
Christian  churches  ? 

We  may  not  be  responsible  for  the  existence  of 
this  state  of  things,  but  for  its  continuance  we  cer- 
tainly are.  Society  is  a  whole,  and  each  individual 
forms,  indissolubly,  a  part  of  it ;  each  one  is  respon- 
sible for  a  portion  of  its  sins,  be  he  himself  as  pure 
as  the  driven  snow ;  and  to  relieve  himself  from  the 
load,  he  must  lessen  the  amount  of  it  in  an  equal 
proportion,  by  the  influence  of  his  example,  by  his 
written  or  spoken  word,  by  all  the  means  in  his  power. 
No  man  can  retire  from  the  world  and  say,  "  I  will 
19 


218  THE  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST. 

keep  myself  aloof  from  my  fellow-men  lest  I  be  pol- 
luted, I  will  maintain  my  purity  in  private,  and 
thus  will  I  fit  myself  for  heaven  "  ;  —  no  man  can 
do  this,  and  accomplish  the  end  which  he  proposes 
to  himself.  Such  selfishness  defeats  itself.  It  disre- 
gards the  most  important  of  God's  laws.  ONLY  IN 

THE  HOPE  OF  THE  SALVATION  OF  THE  RACE  IS  THE 
SALVATION  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL  TO  BE  FOUND. 


TYRANNY   IN  A   FREE   COUNTRY.* 


MR.  EDITOR  :  —  A  law,  lately  passed  in  Alabama, 
proscribing  free  colored  persons,  has  been  going  the 
rounds  of  the  papers,  and,  so  far  as  I  have  seen, 
without  comment.  Said  law  prescribes  "  that  every 
free  person  of  color  arriving  in  that  State,  on  board 
a  vessel,  as  cook,  steward,  or  mariner,  or  in  any 
other  employment,  shall  be  immediately  lodged  in 
prison,  and  detained  until  the  departure  of  said  ves- 
sel," &c.  Also,  "  if  any  free  person  of  color  thus 
sent  away  shall  return,  he  or  she  shall  receive 
thirty-nine  lashes ;  and  if  found  within  the  State 
twenty  days  after  such  punishment,  he  or  she  shall 
be  sold  as  a  slave  for  any  term  not  exceeding  one 
year.  "  The  sixth  section  makes  it  lawful  for  any 
person  to  seize  and  enslave  for  life,  for  his  own  use, 
any  free  person  of  color  who  may  have  come  into  the 
State  of  Alabama  after  the  first  day  of  February, 
1832 ;  provided,  that  this  section  shall  not  take  effect 
until  the  first  day  of  August,  1839.  The  seventh 
section  makes  it  lawful  for  any  person  to  seize  upon, 

*  Published  in  the  Portsmouth  Journal,  for  April  13,  1839. 


220         TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY. 

and  enslave  for  life,  any  free  person  of  color  who 
may  be  found  in  this  State  after  the  passage  of  this 
act,  and  who  shall  have  come  into  the  State  subse- 
quently to  its  passage. 

Here  is  a  most  unrighteous  law,  and  one  clearly 
unconstitutional.  The  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  provides  that  "  the  citizens  of  each  State  shall 
be  entitled  to  all  the  privileges  and  immunities  of  citi- 
zens in  the  several  States."  (Art.  4th,  Sec.  2d.)  But 
here  is  a  law  which  denies  to  a  free  colored  citizen 
of  New  Hampshire  "  the  privileges  and  immunities  of 
a  citizen  "  in  Alabama.  If  business  call  him  to  that 
State  by  sea,  he  enters  it  only  to  tenant  a  prison ; 
and  the  captain  of  the  vessel  is  called  upon  "to  give 
bonds  in  the  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars  that  he 
will  take  him  away  when  the  vessel  departs."  If 
for  business,  or  other  purposes,  he  enter  Alabama 
by  land,  he  may  be  seized  and  sold  into  perpetual 
slavery.  And  this  is  done  in  a  country  which 
boasts  itself  free,  and  under  a  constitution  which 
guaranties  equal  privileges  to  all  free  persons  of  any 
State  who  may  choose  to  travel  or  sojourn  for  a 
while  in  any  other  State  of  the  Union  ! 

If  the  free  colored  people  of  the  Northern  States 
do  not  know  their  rights,  or  fear  to  demand  them,  it 
is  high  time  that  they  were  informed  of  them  •  and  it 
is  high  time  that  the  North  should  assert  and  maintain 
the  rights  of  her  citizens,  whether  their  skins  are 
white  or  black,  whether  they  are  learned  or  ignorant, 
whether  they  are  honored  or  despised.  The  District 
Courts  of  the  United  States  will  give  them  redress; 


TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY.         221 

to  them  let  them  apply.  North  Carolina,  South 
Carolina,  Georgia,  Florida,  Mississippi,  and  Ten- 
nessee all  have  laws  similar  in  their  tendency  to  this 
lately  passed  in  Alabama.  The  law  has  been  resist- 
ed by  the  English,  and  effectually.  The  case  was 
tried  many  years  ago  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 
Some  colored  persons  were  taken  from  a  British  ves- 
sel which  arrived  at  that  city,  and  were  conveyed  to 
prison.  Remonstrance  was  made,  and  the  case  was 
carried  before  the  United  States  court.  The  court 
declared  the  law  to  be  unconstitutional,  and  therefore 
null  and  void.  Notwithstanding  this  decision,  the 
law  has  been  in  force  from  that  day  to  this  ;  and  I 
never  heard  of  an  American  captain  who  dared  to 
raise  an  objection  to  it.  It  is  too  much  trouble ;  it 
will  cost  a  little  money ;  and  so  shipmaster  after 
shipmaster  allows  his  cook,  steward,  or  foremast 
hands,  to  be  taken  away  from  his  vessel  and  incar- 
cerated for  one,  two,  and  sometimes  three  months, 
without  opening  his  mouth  to  protest  against  such 
injustice.  The  law  remains,  a  standing  proof  of 
successful  Nullification. 

The  Southerners  sometimes  call  us  truckling  and 
mean ;  they  say  that  we  will  submit  to  the  greatest 
insults,  if  by  so  doing  we  make  money,  and  that  we 
will  suffer  ourselves  to  be  robbed  of  our  dearest 
rights,  rather  than  risk  life  or  limb  in  their  defence. 
This  can  hardly  be  believed  while  it  is  remembered 
that  Boston  was  the  hot-bed  of  the  American  Rev- 
olution. But  when  Northern  men  will  allow  their 
vessels  to  be  unmanned,  and  the  rights  and  liberty 
19* 


222         TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY. 

of  those  under  their  protection  to  be  infringed,  with- 
out uttering  one  word  of  remonstrance,  who  can 
wonder  that  the  Southerners  charge  us,  and  with 
some  appearance  of  truth,  with  mean  and  truckling 
policy?  Let  the  Northern  States  assert  the  rights 
of  their  citizens,  and  maintain  them.  If  they  can- 
not, it  is  time  that  the  union  of  these  States  were 
dissolved.  Our  independence  was  declared  on  light- 
er grounds. 

Southern  policy  has  too  much  the  ascendant  in 
our  national  councils,  and  always  has  had.  South- 
ern policy  created  the  tariff,  and  Southern  policy 
abolished  it  by  the  threat  of  nullification  and  seces- 
sion. Southern  policy  refuses  to  form  a  treaty  with 
the  independent  republic  of  Hayti,  or  even  to  ac- 
knowledge her  independence  ;  and  with  a  commerce 
of  1,500,000  dollars  per  annum  with  that  island,  our 
merchants  are  obliged  to  pay  ten  per  cent,  more  than 
those  of  any  other  nation,  merely  because  the  South- 
erners will  riot  consent  to  have  a  colored  minister 
at  Washington !  How  do  the  aristocratic  courts  of 
England  and  France  manage  to  tolerate  the  presence 
of  Haytien  ministers  ?  I  have  a  most  sacred  regard 
for  our  Union,  and  would  do  all  in  my  power  to  keep 
it  holy  and  inviolate  ;  provided  always,  that  the 
rights  of  every  class  of  our  free  citizens  should  be 
respected  as  the  Constitution  guaranties.  But  a  union 
cemented  with  the  blood  of  our  citizens  sold  into 
perpetual  slavery,  or  drawn  from  their  backs  by  the 
thirty-nine  lashes  ordered  by  the  legislature  of  Ala- 
bama, would  be  a  union  unholy  and  infamous. 


TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY.         223 

The  operation  of  this  law  is  also  in  direct  contra- 
vention to  our  treaties  with  foreign  nations.  Free 
English,  Spanish,  French,  Portuguese,  and  Brazilian 
colored  citizens  are  subject  to  the  same  treatment  as 
colored  people  from  the  Northern  States.  If  we 
should  succeed  in  forming  a  treaty  with  Hayti,  their 
vessels  would  be  completely  unmanned,  if  they  dared 
to  enter  a  Southern  port. 

I  am  no  Abolitionist,  in  the  technical  sense  of  the 
word  ;  the  Slave  States  may  settle  the  question  of 
Slavery  among  themselves ;  the  Constitution  guaran- 
ties them  that  right.  But  let  them  also  respect  our 
rights,  —  the  rights  of  even  our  meanest  citizens. 

There  sail  out  of  New  Bedford  ships  owned  by 
colored  merchants,  and  officered  and  manned  by  col- 
ored mariners ;  and  the  crews  are  allowed  by  all 
who  have  seen  them  to  be  better  behaved  than  any 
white  crews  that  sail  out  of  the  United  States. 
Yet  these  merchants  and  mariners  cannot  prosecute 
any  voyage  to  the  Southern  ports  of  our  country, 
by  reason  of  the  oppressive  laws  of  the  Southern 
States.  If  they  were  ever  obliged  to  put  into  one 
of  these  ports  in  distress,  the  crew,  officers  and  all, 
would  be  plunged  into  prison,  and  their  ship  might 
rot  and  sink  at  the  wharf,  for  all  the  relief  they 
would  get  in  that  country  of  "  free  and  equal  rights." 

I  have  shown  the  operation  of  this  law  upon  the 
free  colored  citizens  of  the  North ;  now  let  us  look 
at  its  effect  upon  the  free  colored  persons  who  have 
immigrated  into  Alabama,  upon  the  faith  of  the  laws 
of  the  State,  since  the  first  of  February,  1832,  and 


224         TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY. 

up  to  the  time  of  the  passage  of  the  law  under  con- 
sideration. The  sixth  section,  as  given  at  the  head 
of  this  article,  condemns  all  free  colored  persons 
who  have  immigrated  into  the  State  during  the  last 
seven  years,  by  a  piece  of  ex  post  facto  legislation, 
to  perpetual  slavery,  unless  they  leave  the  State 
before  the  first  of  August  next.  They  must  sell  all, 
wind  up  their  concerns,  pack  up,  and  be  off,  in  six 
months,  under  penalty  of  forfeiture  of  liberty !  But 
how  are  these  poor  people  to  get  out  of  the  State  in 
safety,  with  their  goods  and  chattels,  if  they  have 
any  ?  How  are  they  even  to  know  that  such  a  law 
is  passed,  —  since  they  know  not  how  to  read, 
thanks  to  the  anti-literary  laws  which  are  the 
lasting  disgrace  of  the  statute-books  of  the  Slave 
States  ?  Who  will  inform  them,  when,  by  with- 
holding the  fact  for  six  months,  they  may  seize  up- 
on them  for  slaves?  But  suppose  them  duly 
warned ;  —  they  have  settled  their  concerns,  packed 
up  their  little  all,  —  and  the  next  question  is,  Where 
shall  they  go  ?  Can  they  pass  into  Mississippi  ?  O, 
no !  According  to  the  laws  of  that  State,  they  would 
be  sold  for  slaves  for  a  term  not  exceeding  five  years. 
Can  they  pass  into  Tennessee  ?  No !  They  would 
be  fined  from  ten  to  fifty  dollars,  and  condemned  to 
hard  labor  in  the  penitentiary  from  one  to  two  years, 
according  to  the  laws  of  that  enlightened  State. 
Can  they  pass  into  Georgia  ?  Not  there !  They 
would  be  fined  one  hundred  dollars  each,  and,  if  not 
able  to  pay,  would  be  sold  by  public  auction.  Can 
they  pass  into  Florida  ?  No  !  not  even  there  can  the 


TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY.        225 

poor,  persecuted  beings  take  refuge.  The  penalties  of 
entering  that  Territory  I  do  not  know ;  but  no  free 
colored  person  is  allowed  to  pass  the  boundary  line. 
Where,  then,  can  they  go  ?  Every  State  adjoining 
Alabama  spurns  them; — their  only  refuge  is  the 
sea! 

And  what  have  these  poor,  persecuted  beings 
done  to  deserve  such  ignominious  treatment  ?  Have 
they  committed  any  crime  ?  Are  they  murderers  ? 
—  incendiaries  ?  No  !  their  only  crime  is,  that  their 
faces  are  darker  than  those  of  their  persecutors ! 
They  are  called  "free  "  in  the  very  law  which  de- 
crees their  expulsion  ;  yet  they  are  driven  out  of 
the  State  like  so  many  wild  beasts !  To  get  to 
Mobile  from  the  upper  part  of  the  State,  the  fugi- 
tives would  be  obliged  to  travel  several  hundred 
miles  ;  and,  destitute  of  means  as  many  of  them  are, 
that  would  be  no  trifling  journey,  if  not  an  utter  im- 
possibility. The  summer  season  is  the  time  allotted 
for  their  departure,  —  a  time  when  there  are  very  few 
vessels  in»Mobile,  and  those  few  it  would  be  utterly 
out  of  the  power  of  the  blacks  to  charter.  No  !  no  ! 
few  of  them  will  be  so  fortunate  as  to  escape  from 
that  inhospitable  State. 

It  needs  but  a  slight  examination  of  the  case  to  be- 
come satisfied  of  what  will  be  the  horrible  effect  of 
this  law.  There  are  probably  several  hundreds  of 
free  colored  people  in  Alabama,  who  have  been  driven 
into  that  State  during  the  last  seven  years  by  the 
tyrannical  laws  of  the  neighbouring  States  ;  and  nine- 
ty out  of  one  hundred  of  these  miserable  fugitives, 


226         TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY. 

who  have  not  where  to  lay  their  heads,  will  be  re- 
duced to  slavery.  Suppose  there  be  but  one  hundred 
in  the  State  ;  the  bad  principle  of  the  law  will  be 
equally  apparent,  and  the  bad  policy  of  it  more  so, 
considering  that  it  was  hardly  worth  while  to  dis- 
grace the  State  by  passing  such  a  tyrannical  law  for 
so  small  an  object  as  the  expelling  of  one  hundred 
poor  blacks,  men,  women,  and  children,  from  its 
territory.  The  same  would  be  true,  were  there  but 
ten  free  blacks  in  the  State. 

This  ex  post  facto  legislation  is  against  the  princi- 
ples of  the  constitution  of  Alabama  itself,  and  is  a 
most  unwarrantable  exercise  of  power  without  right. 
This  is,  however,  a  concern  of  their  own,  and  they 
may  settle  it  among  themselves ;  but  we  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  express  our  opinion  upon  the  subject ; 
and  we  do  say  that  such  a  law  is  a  disgrace  to  any 
people  pretending  to  be  free  and  civilized.  It  is 
equal  to  the  famous  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Spain,  —  equal  to  the  tyrannical  laws  against  the 
Jews  which  the  various  governments  of  Europe  pro- 
mulgated during  the  Dark  Ages. 

I  should  be  glad  to  hear  that  there  was  a  provision 
in  the  law  for  the  safe  exportation  of  the  fugitives 
from  the  State,  prior  to  August  1st,  1839.  There 
must  be  some  good  people  in  Alabama;  — let  them 
see  that  these  poor  creatures  are  sent  safely  out  of 
the  country,  before  their  doom  falls  upon  them.  Let 
them  look  to  this  thing,  lest  a  greater  disgrace  come 
upon  their  State  than  has  already  befallen  it. 

It  may  excite  a  sneer  in  some,  that  any  one  should 


TYRANNY  IN  A  FREE  COUNTRY.         227 

take  up  the  cause  of  so  degraded  a  class  as  our  free 
colored  population  are  said  to  be.  If  they  are  de- 
graded, it  is  our  laws  and  customs  that  have  made 
them  so.  If  ignorant  and  in  some  measure  helpless, 
so  much  the  more  do  they  need  our  assistance,  and 
so  much  the  greater  is  the  dishonor  of  deserting 
their  cause.  Were  they  educated  and  wealthy,  they 
could  assert  their  rights  themselves.  Let  those 
sneer  who  will,  but  never  let  them  again  boast  of 
their  country's  Declaration  of  Independence,  which 
declares  that  "  all  men  are  created  equal."  If  this 
matter  concerned  as  many  white  persons  as  there 
are  colored  people  involved  in  it,  would  not  the 
country  ring  from  one  end  to  the  other  ?  Are  they 
not  men,  then,  that  their  interests  should  be  passed 
over  so  lightly  ? 


AN   HISTORICAL   PARABLE.* 


THE  country  was  called  Philanthropia  by  the  in- 
habitants, because  they  assumed  to  be  the  warmest 
lovers  of  the  human  race  that  could  be  found  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  They  were  the  first  to  declare 
equality  of  rights  among  all  men  j  the  first  to  as- 
sume, as  the  only  premises  on  which  political  action 
could  righteously  be  founded,  the  self-evident  truth, 
that  every  man  possesses  an  inalienable  right  to  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  They  were 
the  first  to  light  the  torch  of  freedom,  and  throw  it 
among  the  combustible  materials  of  the  old  mon- 
archies. Their  disciples  increased ;  other  nations 
emulated  their  example,  and  some  outstripped  them 
in  the  race. 

But  though  the  Philanthropians  declared,  in  theo- 
ry, the  equal  rights  of  all  men,  yet,  in  practice,  they 
made  some  exceptions ;  for  what  general  rule  is  with- 
out its  exceptions  ?  Exceptions  were  necessary  in 
order  to  confirm  the  rule.  There  were  certain  red- 
haired  people  among  them,  whom  they  relieved  of 

*  Published  in  the  Portsmouth  Journal,  for  April  20,  1844. 


AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE.  229 

the  burden  of  liberty,  exempted  from  the  laborious 
duty  of  pursuing  happiness,  and  occasionally  eased 
of  the  load  of  life,  when  dark-haired  people  would, 
under  similar  circumstances,  have  been  left  to  pursue 
what  all  Christians  declare  to  be,  at  best,  but  a 
weary  pilgrimage  in  a  vale  of  tears.  Believing  "  a 
little  learning"  to  be  "a  dangerous  thing,"  and 
having  read  that  one  of  the  wisest  of  men  had  de- 
clared, after  a  life  spent  in  study,  that  he  knew  noth- 
ing at  all,  they,  out  of  pure  kindness,  forbade  that 
the  red-haired  people  should  be  taught  any  thing  but 
the  arts  which  are  necessary  to  satisfy  the  physical 
wants  of  man.  Knowing  that  human  beings,  if 
left  to  themselves,  often  come  to  want,  and  having 
never  heard  of  a  milch  cow  that  was  starved  to  death 
by  the  man  who  lived  by  selling  her  milk,  they  hu- 
manely passed  a  law  by  which  the  red-haired  people 
were  elevated  to  the  rank  of  cattle,  and  assigned  to 
certain  persons  among  the  dark-haired  race,  who 
were  thenceforth  called  their  masters,  or  owners,  and 
who  extended  to  them  the  same  parental  care  which 
they  bestowed  upon  their  other  stock,  and  sold  and 
bought  them  in  the  same  manner.  Being  thus  en- 
dowed with  all  the  privileges  and  immunities  of  per- 
ambulating merchandise,  so  admirably  did  the  system 
work,  that  a  cow  would  as  soon  have  been  expected 
to  demand  admittance  into  the  alms-house,  as  a  red- 
haired  person.  Pauperism  was  unknown  among  this 
favored  portion  of  the  inhabitants  ;  and  of  the  whole 
population,  they  alone  were  truly  independent.  In 
order  to  extend  the  blessings  of  the  system  as  far  as 
20 


230  AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE. 

possible,  the  descendants  of  the  red-haired,  to  the  re- 
motest generation,  were  endowed  by  the  law  of  in- 
heritance with  all  the  privileges  possessed  by  their 
ancestors,  even  though  the  red  hair  should  in  process 
of  time  be  displaced  by  black  ;  and  upon  any  such 
the  masters  were  forbidden  to  thrust  the  curse  of  lib- 
erty ;  and  he  who  should  lead  any  one  of  these  fa- 
vored beings  astray  was  declared  worthy  of  death. 

Were  not  the  dark-haired  people  deservedly  called 
Philanthropians,  and  their  country  Philanthropia  ? 

After  the  lapse  of  centuries,  the  two  races  had  so 
mingled  their  blood,  that  many  dark-haired  persons 
were,  by  the  law  of  descent,  elevated  to  the  rank  of 
cattle,  who,  if  red  and  black  had  any  thing  to  do  with 
the  matter,  had  no  more  right  to  that  station  than 
their  masters.  Among  these  was  Emma,  who,  from 
her  resemblance  to  her  owner  and  his  family,  might 
have  been  taken  for  his  daughter.  A  wicked  dark- 
haired  man,  named  John,  lured  her  to  leave  her  mas- 
ter, flee  from  Philanthropia,  and  take  up  her  abode 
in  the  adjoining  country  of  Misanthropia,  (so  called 
by  the  Philanthropians,)  where  equality  was  more 
practised,  but  less  talked  of. 

But  the  fugitives  were  pursued,  overtaken,  and 
brought  back.  Emma  received  a  good  cow-skin- 
ning ;  for  is  it  not  written,  "  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil 
the  child  "  ?  John  was  very  properly  tried,  found 
guilty,  and  condemned  to  be  hung,  in  order  that  the 
majesty  of  the  law  might  be  vindicated ;  and  who 
can  doubt  the  justice  of  the  sentence  ?  Are  not  the 
powers  that  be  ordained  of  God,  and,  by  conse- 


AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE.  231 

quence,  infallible  \  And  the  judge,  is  not  he  one  of 
the  highest  of  the  powers  that  be  ?  and  is  not  all  that 
he  utters  full  of  wisdom  and  goodness,  profitable  for 
reproof  and  edification,  and  redolent  of  the  Christian 
virtues  ?  Ye  who  doubt,  listen  to  the  sentence  pro- 
nounced upon  the  criminal  by  the  judge. 

"John;  you  are  to  die  a  shameful,  ignominious 
death  upon  the  gallows.  You  little  thought,  when 
you  stepped  into  the  bar  with  an  air  as  if  you 
thought  it  a  fine  frolic,  that  you  were  so  soon  to 
hear  this  appalling  annunciation ;  and  I  reckon  you 
'11  laugh  now  on  the  other  side  of  your  mouth.  But 
that  is  the  way  those  who  break  the  laws  of  Philan- 
thropia  are  always  brought  up.  You  have  com- 
mitted the  awful  crime  of  aiding  the  great-grand- 
child of  a  red-haired  person  to  run  away,  and  depart 
from  her  master's  service ;  and  you  are  now  to  die 
for  it ! 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  and  I  fear  have  been  an 
idle  as  well  as  a  dissolute  one  ;  not  that  this  would 
have  been  any  great  matter,  if  you  had  held  in  bond-- 
age  a  hundred  or  two  of  red-hairs,  and  been  disso- 
lute and  idle  according  to  law.  Your  crime  was  the 
consequence  of  a  want  of  attention,  on  your  part,  to 
the  duties  of  life,  shown  in  the  fact  of  your  falling  in 
love  with  the  descendant  of  a  red-hair,  and  wishing 
to  marry  her.  Had  you  kept  her  in  concubinage, 
and  thus  increased  the  property  of  her  owner,  no  one 
would  have  found  any  fault  with  you  ;  and  if 
you  had  dressed  decently,  and  conformed  yourself  to 
the  rules  of  good  society  in  other  respects  also,  you 


232  AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE. 

might  have  dwelt  among  us  respepted  and  honored, 
and  perhaps  one  day  been  elected  Yice-President  of 
the  nation.  But  to  free  a  red-hair,  and  then  marry 
her  !  —  horrible  !  You  must  acknowledge  that  you 
deserve  to  be  hung.  Had  you  remembered  in  the 
days  of  your  youth  Him  who  created  all  men  equal, 
and  endowed  them  with  an  inalienable  right  to 
life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  you 
would  never  have  committed  the  unpardonable  sin 
of  helping  a  fellow-creature  to  exercise  these  rights. 
Unpardonable,  did  I  say?  No,  the  arms  of  your  Fa- 
ther are  continually  stretched  out,  in  love,  towards 
you,  the  vilest  of  sinners,  although  the  arms  of 
your  brethren  are  about  to  be  employed  in  hanging 
you.  He  will  forgive,  though  we  persecute  to  death. 
"  Perhaps  you  can  read  ;  if  you  can,  read  the  Bible. 
You  will  there  learn  that  it  is  your  duty  to  do  to 
others  as  you  would  that  others  should  do  to  you ; 
that  is,  you  should  assist  owners  of  red-hairs  to  re- 
tain and  increase  their  stock,  as  you  would  wish  to 
'be  protected  in  the  possession  of  your  own  proper- 
ty. You  will  there  learn  that  it  is  sinful  to  covet 
and  steal  your  neighbour's  maid-servant,  or  any  thing 
that  is  his.  You  may  also  read  there,  that  God  is 
no  respecter  of  persons  ;  but  be  careful  to  construe 
that  passage  aright.  He  is  not  a  respecter  of  per- 
sons, but  he  is  of  property  ;  and  when  persons  are 
made  property  by  law,  then  they  are  no  longer  per- 
sons. You  may,  indeed,  read  that  we  are  forbidden 
to  kill ;  but  when  a  man  does  that  which  he  knows 
will  be  followed  by  the  punishment  of  death,  we  do 


AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE.  233 

not  kill,  —  he  commits  suicide.  But  above  all,  you 
will  there  learn  that  it  is  the  duty  of  men  to  for- 
give each  other,  as  they  themselves  hope  for  final 
forgiveness.  Harbour,  therefore,  no  ill-will  to  us  of 
the  dark-haired  race  who  are  about  to  hang  you. 
You  have  erred  ;  but  remember  that 

1  To  err  is  human  ;  to  forgive,  divine.' 

"  But  perhaps  you  cannot  read  :  if  so,  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at ;  for  in  this  department  of  Philanthro- 
pia  we  have  no  free  schools,  and  the  expense  of  edu- 
cation at  the  private  seminaries  is  too  great  for  those 
poor  people  who  own  no  red-hairs.  Consequently, 
you  may  know  but  little  with  regard  to  the  princi- 
ples of  our  holy  religion,  and  perhaps  nothing  of  the 
law  by  virtue  of  which  you  are  to  be  hung ;  but 
you  shall  not  be  left  without  comfort  in  your  last 
moments ;  the  ministers  of  the  Gospel  will  aid  you ; 
they  will  read  and  expound  the  Scriptures  to  you, 
and  prove  beyond  a  doubt,  that  God  ordained  the 
slavery  of  the  red-haired  race,  and  the  death,  by 
hanging,  of  all  who  oppose  it. 

"  The  sentence  of  the  law  is,  that  you  be  taken 

hence  to  jail,  securely  confined  till ,  on  which 

day,  at ,  you  will  be  taken  to  the  place  of  public 

execution,  and  there  be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  your 
body  be  dead.  And  may  God,  who  is  now  looking 
down  upon  us,  judge  between  us  and  you,  and  have 
mercy  on  your  soul  !  " 

And  certain  distant  observers  arose,  who  said  it 
was  a  sin  to  enslave  the  red-hairs  and  their  descend- 
20* 


234  AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE. 

ants ;  a  crime  to  hang  those  who  assisted  them  to 
escape  ;  a  meanness,  in  those  who  reigned  only  by 
right  of  the  strongest,  to  exult  over  the  victim  con- 
demned to  the  gallows  ;  a  piece  of  hypocrisy,  at  such 
a  time,  to  put  on  the  garb  of  religion,  and  of  blas- 
phemy, to  use  God's  name  as  a  sanction  to  such  pro- 
ceedings. And  the  slaveholders  felt  very  uncomfort- 
able ;  the  consciences  of  some  smote  them,  and 
others  grew  wrathful  at  this  interference  with  their 
rights. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  certain  other  observers 
arose  also,  and  rebuked  the  fault-finders,  and  defend- 
ed the  judge  and  his  dark-haired  compatriots,  and 
exhibited  a  great  deal  of  solemn  horror  at  the  harsh 
language  applied  to  them,  and  the  consequent  great 
injustice  of  which  they  were  made  the  victims  ;  but 
had  no  word  of  sympathy  for  John,  no  perception  of 
the  injustice  of  which  he  had  been  made  the  victim, 
in  common  with  the  red-hairs.  Some  declared,  that 
the  red-hairs  ought  to  be  enslaved,  they  deserved 
nothing  better.  Others,  very  excellent  and  estimable 
people,  wished  that  all  should  be  free  alike,  provided 
such  a  state  of  things  could  be  brought  about  with- 
out suffering  to  the  dark-haired  race  ;  and  they  really 
believed  it  could  be  done,  if  people  would  only  let 
the  matter  alone.  They  therefore  said  a  great  deal 
to  induce  people  to  adopt  this  course,  and  to  prove 
that  slaveholding  was  only  a  misfortune,  not  a  sin. 
And  when  the  slaveholders  knew  these  things,  they 
felt  very  comfortable  ;  the  scruples  of  the  conscien- 
tious were  satisfied,  and  the  ire  of  the  wrathful  was 


AN    HISTORICAL    PARABLE.  235 

appeased :  and,  one  and  all,  they  set  about  extending 
and  perpetuating  red-haired  slavery. 

But  the  governor  of  that  department  of  Philan- 
thropia  was  a  tender-hearted  man ;  he  thought  that 
John  had  not  committed  a  crime  worthy  of  death, 
and  feared  that  God  would  not  hold  him  guiltless,  if 
he  permitted  his  execution  ;  yet  he  dared  not  grant 
him  a  full  pardon,  for  public  sentiment  demanded 
that  some  punishment  should  be  inflicted  for  the 
offence  of  breaking  the  laws  ;  he  therefore  commuted 
the  penalty  of  death  to  that  of  a  public  whipping. 

And  when  many  centuries  had  passed  away,  and 
Christianity  dwelt  in  the  hearts  and  ruled  the  lives 
of  the  people  of  Philanthropia,  and  liberty  was  a 
fact,  not  a  name,  —  then  the  posterity  of  the  ancient 
Philanthropians  read  the  history  of  their  country, 
and,  contemplating  some  of  the  deeds  of  their  fore- 
fathers, said,  —  «*  *  *  *  *  *  * 
*  #  #  * » 


POETRY. 


MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS.* 


IN  at  the  open  window  shine 

The  far-off  solemn  stars  of  heaven : 

With  sleepless  eyelids,  I  recline 
Upon  my  couch,  to  musing  given. 

A  holy  silence  fills  the  air ; 

In  sleep  repose  earth's  sons  and  daughters  ; 
One  voice  alone  is  heard  afar,  — 

The  rushing  "sound  of  many  waters." 

Piscataqua !  I  know  full  well 

Thine  old,  familiar  tone,  dear  river ! 

To  thee,  as  by  a  mighty  spell, 

My  inmost  heart  is  bound  for  ever. 

In  boyhood,  while  life's  morning  dew 
Still  moistened  hope's  delusive  blossom, 

In  sail-boat,  or  in  light  canoe, 
I  loved  to  sport  upon  thy  bosom. 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  November,  1845. 


240  MIDNIGHT    MUSINGS. 

And  when  the  summer  sun  sank  down, 
At  eve,  among  his  gorgeous  pillows, 

Far  from  the  hot  and  dusty  town, 
I  've  bathed  amid  thy  cooling  billows. 

Full  many  a  river  may,  I  fear, 

In  point  of  length  be  ranked  before  thee  ; 
But  thou  art  broad,  and  deep,  and  clear, 

And  blue  as  are  the  heavens  o'er  thee. 

Of  Mississippi  they  may  speak 

Who  find  t'  explore  him  time  and  season  ; 
But  I  have  pierced  thine  every  creek, 

And  love  thee  for  that  very  reason. 

- 
No  mighty  common  sewer  art  thou, 

To  do  the  drainage  of  the  nation, 
But  thy  pure  waters  ebb  and  flow 

With  Ocean's  every  heart-pulsation. 

Oft  sound  the  echoes  on  thy  side, 

With  music,  song,  and  laughter  hearty, 

As  o'er  thy  breast,  at  even-tide, 
Floats  the  returning  water-party. 

And  oft,  as  now,  when  summer  night 
The  harsher  din  of  daylight  hushes, 

I  listen  to  thy  voice  of  might, 

As  seaward  thy  strong  current  rushes. 

Anon,  above  thy  solemn  bass, 

A  sound  like  Fate's  dread  step  approaches, 


MIDNIGHT    MUSINGS.  241 

As  o'er  thy  bridge,  at  hurrying  pace, 

Come  tramping  steeds  and  rumbling  coaches. 

That  midnight  train  hath  come  and  gone, 
"From  silence  sprung,  in  silence  ended  ; 

But  further,  naught  to  me  is  known, 
Or  whence  it  came,  or  whither  tended. 

From  voiceless  gloom  thus  suddenly 
Emerges  man,  —  a  solemn  marvel ! 

From  mystery  to  mystery, 

Thus  o'er  the  bridge  of  Life  we  travel. 

O,  what  a  bitter  mockery 

Were  this  brief  span  to  mortals  given, 
Had  we,  O  God !  no  faith  in  thee, 

No  staff  on  earth,  no  hope  of  heaven  ! 

O,  no !  there  lies  beyond  the  tomb 
No  "  silent  land,"  awaiting  mortals  ; 

A  land  of  melody  and  bloom 

Spreads  out  behind  Death's  gloomy  portals. 

Then  bravely  bide  the  doom  that  waits ; 

Bear  all  of  earth,  for  all  of  heaven ; 
Step,  like  a  conqueror,  through  those  gates,  — 

Not  like  a  captive,  chained  and  driven. 

O  river  !  rushing  to  the  sea 

With  eager  and  impetuous  motion, 

Soon  thy  pent  waters  shall  be  free 

To  roam  the  deep  and  boundless  ocean. 
21 


242  MIDNIGHT    MUSINGS. 

Then,  while  thou  murmurest  in  mine  ear, 
Let  me  accept  the  lesson  given : 

Dost  thou  pant  for  a  wider  sphere  ? 
So  should  my  spirit  long  for  heaven. 

Though  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
I  thus  discourse  with  thee,  dear  river ! 

Though  flowing  almost  in  my  sight, 

Loved  stream  !  we  meet  no  more  for  ever 

For  ever  ?     When  the  ties  which  chain 
My  soul  to  clay  kind  Death  shall  sever, 

Free  as  the  wind  I  '11  roam  again 
Along  thy  banks,  delightful  river ! 


A   SAIL   ON   THE   PISCATAQUA  * 


O'ER  the  dear  Piscataqua 

Gaily  is  our  light  boat  dancing  ; 
Brightly  on  its  crystal  waves, 

Lo  !  the  morning  sun  is  glancing. 

Portsmouth  Bridge  is  left  behind ; 

Now  we  're  past  the  "  Pulpit  "  f  pressing  ; 
Lift  your  hat,  and  bend  your  head 

To  the  Parson  for  his  blessing. 

Stationed  on  the  rocky  bank, 

From  his  Pulpit,  as  we  near  him, 

Through  the  pine-trees,  whispers  he 
Solemn  words,  would  we  but  hear  him. 

Thus  sweet  Nature  everywhere 
Truth  reveals  to  all  who  need  it  ; 

Thus  on  life's  tumultuous  tide 
Borne  along,  we  lightly  heed  it. 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  June,  1846. 
t  "  The  Pulpit,"  a  pine-clad  cliff  so  called  on  the  southwest  bank 
of  the  river,  before  which  it  is  customary  to  make  obeisance  in  passing. 


244  A    SAIL    ON    THE    PISCATAQUA. 

Far  and  near,  on  either  hand, 
See  the  trees  like  giants  striding 

Past  each  other,  up  and  down, 
With  a  ghostly  motion  gliding. 

From  the  rocky  pass  emerged, 

Sinking  cliffs  and  shelving  beaches, 

Far  receding,  usher  us 

To  the  loveliest  of  reaches. 

Stretching  wide,  a  beauteous  lake 
To  the  raptured  eye  is  given ; 

Far  beyond,  the  blue  hills  melt 
In  the  clearer  blue  of  heaven. 

Rustic  dwellings,  clumps  of  trees, 
Upland  swells,  and  verdant  meadows 

Lie  around,  and  over  all 

Flit  the  summer  lights  and  shadows. 

O'er  the  river's  broad  expanse 
Here  and  there  a  boat  is  darting, 

Swelling  sails  and  foaming  bows 
Life  unto  the  scene  imparting. 

Humble  market-wherry  there 
Lags  along  with  lazy  oar  ; 

Here,  the  lordly  packet-boat 
Dashes  by,  with  rushing  roar. 

Comrades,  look !  the  west-wind  lulls ; 
Flags  the  sail ;  the  waves  grow  stilly 


A    SAIL    ON    THE    PISCATA^UA.  245 

Rouse  old  .ZEolus  from  his  sleep ! 
Whistle,  whistle,  whistle  shrilly  ! 

See,  obedient  to  the  call, 

O'er  the  beach  the  breeze  approaching  ! 
Now  our  little  bark  careens, 

*Leeward  gunwale  nearly  touching. 

Luff  a  little  !  ease  the  sheet ! 

On  each  side  the  bright  foam  flashes : 
In  her  mouth  she  holds  a  bone, 

O'er  her  bow  the  salt  spray  dashes. 

To  and  fro  ;  long  tack  and  short ; 

Rapidly  we  work  up  river. 
Comrades,  seems  it  not  to  you 

That  we  thus  could  sail  for  ever  ? 


21* 


A   FRIEND   INDEED.* 


A  NURSE  more  tender,  friend  more  true, 
Man  never  saw,  man  never  can  see, 

Than  ever  unto  me  has  been, 

Through  many  a  dark  and  painful  scene, 
The  good,  warm-hearted  NANCY  ! 

Her  kind  attention  never  nags, 

She  faileth  in  no  exigency  ; 
No  mother  to  her  child  could  be 
Devoted  more  than  she  to  me, 

The  generous-hearted  NANCY  ! 

When  sorely  crippled  in  each  limb, 

As  one  may  feel,  but  none  can  fancy, 
She  lifts  me  then,  with  gentle  care, 
From  chair  to  couch,  from  couch  to  chair, 
The  dear,  kind-hearted  NANCY  ! 

When  racked  with  pain  in  every  joint, 
She  practiseth  true  necromancy  ; 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  August,  1846. 


A    FRIEND    INDEED. 

And  by  her  soothing  kindness  then 
Drives  pain  away,  brings  ease  again : 
A  true  physician  NANCY  ! 

When  melancholy  fills  my  mind 

With  many  a  dark  and  dreary  fancy, 
With  cheerful  voice  and  laughter  gay 
She  drives  my  gloomy  thoughts  away  : 
A  .true  consoler  NANCY  ! 

Of  a  large  portion  of  my  heart 

She  hath  the  rightful  occupancy  ; 
And  there,  while  life  and  sense  remain, 
Her  image  shall  its  place  retain, 
The  noble-hearted  NANCY! 

When  1  am  gone,  O,  may  it  prove 

No  idle  and  unfounded  fancy, 
That,  whether  in  her  joy  or  woe, 
She  '11  think  of  him  who  lieth  low  ! 
I  know  thou  wilt,  dear  NANCY  ! 

And  when  I  reach  the  "  better  land," 
Where  sorrow  hath  no  occupancy, 
My  joy  can  never  be  complete 
Till  in  those  realms  of  bliss  I  meet 
With  thee  again,  dear  NANCY  ! 


247 


THE   BALLAD  OF  JACK  RINGBOLT.* 


JACK  RINGBOLT  lay  at  the  Seaman's  Home, 

And  sorely  afraid  was  he, 
Lest  he  should  end  upon  the  land 

A  life  spent  on  the  sea. 

He  was  born  upon  the  ocean, 

And  with  her  dying  groan 
His  mother  gave  him  being, 

Then  left  him  all  alone,  — 

Alone  upon  the  desert  sea, 

With  not  a  female  hand 
To  nourish  him  and  cherish  him, 

Like  infants  on  the  land ! 

The  storm-king  held  a  festival 

Upon  the  deep  that  night  ; 
His  voice  was  thundering  overhead, 

His  eye  was  flashing  bright : 

Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  December,  1846. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT.  249 

The  billows  tossed  their  caps  aloft, 

And  shouted  in  their  glee  ; 
But,  O,  it  was  for  mortal  men 

An  awful  night  to  see ! 

Among  the  shrouds  and  spars  aloft 
A  host  of  fiends  were  shrieking ; 

And  the  pump-brake's  dismal  clank  on  deck 
Told  that  the  ship  was  leaking. 

The  ship  was  lying  to  the  wind, 

Her  helm  was  lashed  a-lee  ,• 
And  at  every  mighty  roller, 

She  was  boarded  by  a  sea. 

The  doom-struck  vessel  trembled, 
As  the  waves  swept  o'er  her  deck  ; 

She  rolled  among  the  billows, 
An  unmanageable  wreck. 

To  their  boats  they  took  for  safety, 

The  captain  and  his  men, 
And  the  helpless  new-born  infant 

Was  not  forgotten  then. 


A  rough,  hard-featured  countenance 
The  storm-tossed  captain  wore  ; 

But  his  heart  for  tender  innocence 
With  love  was  flowing  o'er. 

"  He  shall  not  perish  here  alone, 
Upon  the  ocean  wild  ! 


250  THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT. 

But  only  God  can  nourish  him, 
The  motherless  young  child !  " 

But  all  in  vain  his  kindness, 

Had  they  not  at  break  of  day  — 

Glad  sight !  —  beheld  before  them 
A  vessel  on  her  way. 

They  were  rescued,  and  on  board  of  her, 
As  the  passengers  drew  round, 

In  woman's  arms  the  orphan  boy 
The  needed  succour  found. 

He  lived ;  but  to  his  inmost  soul 
His  birth-night  gave  its  tone  ; 

The  spirits  of  the  stormy  deep 
Had  marked  him  for  their  own. 

He  lived  and  grew  to  manhood 

Amid  the  ocean's  roar  ; 
His  heaven  was  on  the  surging  sea, 

His  hell  was  on  the  shore  ! 

He  joyed  amid  the  tempest, 

When  spars  and  sails  were  riven  ; 

And  when  the  din  of  battle  drowned 
The  artillery  of  heaven. 

He  often  breathed  a  homely  prayer, 
That,  when  life's  cruise  was  a'er, 

His  battered  hulk  might  sink  at  sea, 
A  thousand  miles  from  shore. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT.  251 

And  now,  to  lie  up  high  and  dry, 

A  wreck  upon  the  sand  ! 
To  leave  his  weary  bones  at  last 

Upon  the  hated  land ! 

The  thought  was  worse  than  death  to  him, 

It  shook  his  noble  soul  ; 
Strange  sight !  adown  his  hollow  cheek 

A  tear  was  seen  to  roll. 

"  Could  I  but  float  my  bark  once  more, 

'T  would  be  a  joy  to  me 
Amid  the  howling  tempest 

To  sink  into  the  sea !  " 

Then,  turning  to  the  window, 

He  gazed  into  the  sky  • 
The  scud  was  flying  overhead, 

The  gale  was  piping  high : 

And  in  the  fitful  pauses 

Was  heard  old  Ocean's  roar, 
As  in  vain  his  marshalled  forces 

Rushed  foaming  on  the  shore. 

Look  now  !  his  cheek  is  flushing, 

And  a  light  is  in  his  eye  ; 
"  Throw  up  the  window  !  let  me  hear 

That  voice  before  I  die  ! 

"  They  're  hailing  me,  the  crested  waves, 
A  brave  and  countless  band, 


252  THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT. 

As  rank  on  rank,  to  rescue  me, 
They  leap  upon  the  land ! 

"  'T  is  all  in  vain,  bold  comrades ! 

And  yet,  and  yet  so  near  ! 
Ye  are  but  one  short  league  away,  — 

Must  I  —  die  —  here  ? 

"  No !  the  ship  that  brought  me  hither 

Is  at  the  pier-head  lying, 
And  ere  to-morrow  night  she  '11  be 

Before  a  norther  flying. 

"  Now  bless  ye,  brother  sailors ! 

If  ye  grant  my  wish,"  he  cried  j 
"  But  curse  ye,  if "    He  spake  no  morej 

Fell  back,  and  gasped,  and  died. 


PART    SECOND. 

THEY  sewed  him  in  his  hammock 
With  a  forty-two  pound  shot 

Beneath  his  feet,  to  sink  him 
Into  some  ocean  grot. 

Adown  the  swift  Piscataqua 

They  rowed  with  muffled  oar, 
And  out  upon  the  ocean, 

A  league  away  from  shore. 

• 

7T  was  at  the  hour  of  twilight, 
On  a  chill  November  day, 


THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT.  253 

When  on  their  gloomy  errand 
They  held  their  dreary  way. 

The  burial  service  over, 

He  was  launched  into  the  wave  ; 

Now  rest  in  peace,  JACK  RINGBOLT  ! 
Thou  hast  found  an  ocean  grave. 

Down  went  the  corpse  into  the  sea, 

As  though  it  were  of  lead  j 
But  it  sank  not  twenty  fathoms, 

Ere  it  touched  the  ocean's  bed. 

Then  up  it  shot  and  floated 

Half-length  above  the  tide  • 
A  lurid  flame  played  round  the  head, 

The  canvass  opened  wide. 

No  motion  of  the  livid  lips 

Or  ghastly  face  was  seen  j 
But  a  hollow  voice  thrilled  thro'  their  ears, 

"  Quarter  less  nineteen  !  " 

Then  eastward  sped  the  awful  dead, 

While  o'er  the  darkened  sea 
Upon  the  billows  rose  and  fell 

The  corpse-light  fitfully. 

They  gazed  in  fearful  wonderment, 

Their  hearts  with  horror  rife  j 
Then,  panic-stricken,  seized  their  oars, 

And  rowed  as  if  for  life. 
22 


254  THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT. 

Their  eyes  were  fixed  with  stony  stare 

Upon  the  spectral  light  ; 
They  rowed  like  corpses  galvanized,  — 

So  silent  and  so  white. 

They  darted  by  "  The  Sisters  "  ; 

They  went  rushing  past  "  Whale's  Back  "  ; 
With  tireless  arms  they  forced  the  boat 

Along  her  foamy  track : 

But  not  a  single  face  was  flushed, 
Not  one  long  breath  they  drew, 

Until  Fort  Constitution 

Hid  the  ocean  from  their  view. 


PART    THIRD. 

'T  WAS  midnight  on  mid-ocean, 

The  winds  forgot  to  blow  ; 
The  clouds  hung  pitchy  black  above, 

The  sea  rolled  black  below  ; 
On  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Glendoveer 

The  mate  paced  to  and  fro. 

There  was  no  sound  upon  the  deep 
To  wake  the  slumbering  gales, 

But  the  creaking  of  the  swaying  masts, 
And  the  flapping  of  the  sails, 

As  the  vessel  climbed  the  ocean-hills 
Or  sank  into  the  vales. 

The  mate  looked  over  the  starboard  rail, 
And  saw  a  light  abeam ; 


THE    BALLAD    OF    JACK    RINGBOLT.  255 

The  lantern  of  a  ship,  mayhap, 

A  faint  and  flickering  gleam : 
Was  it  bearing  down  on  the  Glendoveer, 

Or  did  the  mate  but  dream  ? 

A  phantom-ship  on  a  breezeless  night 

To  sail  ten  knots  an  hour ! 
Now  on  the  beam,  now  quartering, 

Now  close  astern  it  bore  : 
All  silent  as  the  dead  it  moved, 

A  light  —  and  nothing  more  ! 

No  creaking  block,  no  rumbling  rope, 

Was  heard,  nor  shivering  sail ; 
But,  luffing  on  the  larboard  beam, 

A  voice  was  heard  to  hail, 
That  made  the  hearts  of  the  Glendoveers 

Within  their  bosoms  quail. 

It  broke  upon  the  still  night-air, 

A  hoarse,  sepulchral  sound  :  — 
"  What  ship  is  that  ?  "     A  moment, 

And  the  mate  his  breath  has  found  :  — 
"  The  Glendoveer,  of  Portsmouth, 

From  Cadiz,  homeward  bound  !  " 

A  livid  glare,  a  ghastly  face, 

A  voice,  —  and  all  was  o'er ; 
"Report  JACK  RINGBOLT,  sunk  at 'sea, 

A  thousand  miles  from  shore  !  " 
Silence  and  darkness  on  the  deep 

Resumed  their  sway  once  more. 


"LUFF     WHEN    YOU     CAN,    BEAR    AWAY 
WHEN   YOU   MUST."* 


WHEN  the  mariner  sees,  far  ahead  on  the  ocean, 
By  the  yeasty  white  waves,  in  their  wildest  commo- 
tion, 

That  breakers  are  lying  direct  in  his  path, 
He  dashes  not  onward  to  brave  all  their  wrath, 
But,  still  in  his  compass  and  helm  placing  trust, 
Luffs,  luffs  if  he  can,  bears  away  when  he  must. 

'Mid  the  lightning's  sharp  flash,  'mid  the  thunder's 

deep  roar, 

When  the  foaming  waves  dash  on  the  rocky  lee- 
shore, 

When  Hope  disappears,  and  the  terrible  form 
Of  Death  rides  triumphant  upon  the  dark  storm, 
In  God  and  their  ship  the  bold  mariners  trust, 
Luff,  luff  while  they  can,  yield  a  point  when  they 
must. 

Then  make  it  your  rule,  on  the  billows  of  life. 
So  to  sail  as  to  shun  all  commotion  and  strife: 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  February,  1847. 


LUFF    WHEN    YOU    CAN,     ETC.  257 

And  thus  shall  your  voyage  of  existence  be  pleasant, 
Hope  smile  on  the  future,  Joy  beam  on  the  present, 
If  you  in  the  rule  of  the  mariner  trust, 
"  Luff,  luff  while  you  can,  bear  away  when  you  must." 

And  when  the  lee-shore  of  grim  Death  is  in  view, 
And  the  tempests  of  fate  your  lone  vessel  pursue,  — 
Even  while  your  last  prayers  unto  God  are  addressed, 
Though  prepared  for  the  worst,  still  hope  on  for  the 

best  j 

Carry  sail  till  the  last  stitch  of  canvass  is  burst,  — 
Luff,  luff  while  you  can,  drive  ashore  when  you  must. 


22* 


WRECK  OF  THE  SEGUNTUM: 

A    BALLAD.* 

[THE  Spanish  ship  Seguntum  was  wrecked  on  the  Isles  of  Shoals 
in  the  winter  of  1813,  and  all  hands  on  board  perished.] 

FAST  o'er  the  seas  a  favoring  breeze 

The  Spanish  ship  had  borne  ; 
The  sailors  thought  to  reach  their  port 

Ere  rose  another  morn. 

As  sank  the  sun,  the  bark  dashed  on, 

The  green  sea  cleaving  fast : 
Ah  !  little  knew  the  reckless  crew 

That  night  should  be  their  last ! 

They  little  thought  their  destined  port 

Should  be  the  foaming  surge,  — 
That  long  ere  morn  again  should  dawn, 

The  winds  should  wail  their  dirge ! 

As  twilight  fades,  and  evening  shades 

Are  deepening  into  night, 
The  sky  grows  black,  and  driving  rack 

Obscures  the  starry  light. 

*  Published  in  the  Knickerbocker,  for  July,  1847. 


WRECK    OF    THE    SEGUNTUM.  259 

And  loudly  now  the  storm- winds  blow, 

And  through  the  rigging  roar ; 
They  find,  too  late  to  shun  their  fate, 

They  're  on  a  leeward  shore. 

'Mid  snow  and  hail  they  shorten  sail  ; 

The  bark  bows  'neath  the  blast ; 
And,  as  the  billows  rise  and  break, 

She  's  borne  to  leeward  fast. 

The  straining  ship  drives  through  the  seas, 

Close  lying  to  the  wind  ; 
The  spray,  on  all  where  it  doth  fall, 

Becomes  an  icy  rind. 

It  strikes  upon  the  shrinking  face 

As  sharp  as  needles'  prick  ; 
And  ever  as  the  ship  doth  pitch, 

The  shower  comes  fast  and  thick. 

And  with  it  comes  the  driving  snow, 

Borne  on  the  bitter  blast ; 
The  helmsman  scarce  the  compass  sees, 

It  flies  so  keen  and  fast. 

A  sound  of  fear  strikes  on  the  ear ; 

It  is  the  awful  roar 
Of  dashing  breakers,  dead  ahead, 

Upon  the  rocky  shore  ! 

"  Wear  ship !  hard  up,  hard  up  your  helm  !  " 
Aloud  the  captain  cries : 


260  WRECK    OF    THE    SEGUNTUM. 

Slowly  her  head  pays  off,  and  now 
Before  the  wind  she  flies. 

Now  on  the  other  tack  close  braced, 
She  holds  her  foaming  course  : 

Short  respite  then  !  too  soon  again 
Are  heard  the  breakers  hoarse  ! 

Ahead,  to  windward  and  to  lee, 

The  foaming  surges  roar : 
"  O  Holy  Virgin  !  save  us  now, 

And  we  will  sin  no  more ! 

"  We  vow  to  lead  a  holy  life  !  " 

Too  late  !  alas,  too  late  ! 
Their  vows  and  plaints  to  imaged  saints 

Cannot  avert  their  fate. 

They  strike  a  rock  ;  O,  God  !  the  shock  ! 

They  vanish  in  that  surge  ! 
Through  mast  and  shroud  the  tempest  loud 

Howls  forth  a  dismal  dirge. 

There  lives  not  one  to  greet  the  sun, 

Or  tell  the  tale  at  home  ; 
A  winding-sheet  for  sailors  meet, 

The  waves  around  them  foam. 

The  storm  is  o'er ;  the  rocky  shore 
Lies  strewn  with  many  a  corse, 

Disfigured  by  the  angry  surf, 
That  still  is  murmuring  hoarse. 


WRECK    OF    THE    SEGUNTLTM.  261 

And  thus  the  Spanish  crew  were  found,* 

Cast  on  those  barren  isles ; 
There,  in  unconsecrated  ground, 

They  rest  them  from  their  toils. 

No  mourners  stood  around  their  graves, 

No  friends  above  them  wept  ; 
A  hasty  prayer  was  uttered  there  ; 

Unknown,  unknelled,  they  slept. 

*  Thirteen  in  number.  Their  graves  are  still  to  be  seen  on  one 
of  the  Isles  of  Shoals.  These  islands  lie  off  the  harbour  of  Ports- 
mouth (N.  H.),  nine  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Piscataqua. 


THE   WATER-CURE: 

OR  THE  BALLAD  OF  KATE  PETERSON.* 


AN  honest  man  Tim  Peterson, 
Hard-working  and  hard-faring  ; 

And  Mary  was  a  loving  wife, 
His  daily  labors  sharing. 

Along  the  border  of  his  farm, 

His  well-tilled  fifty  acres, 
The  beautiful  Piscataqua 

Threw  up  its  mimic  breakers. 

A  small,  neat  house,  a  large,  full  barn, 

A  thrifty  farmer  proved  him  ; 
Yet  none  looked  on  with  envious  eyes, 

For  all  who  knew  him  loved  him. 

Upon  this  model  farm  of  his, 
Laved  by  those  briny  waters, 

*  This,  and  all  or  nearly  all  of  the  following  poems,  were  pub- 
lished, at  different  times,  in  the  Portsmouth  Journal. 


THE    WATER-CURE.  263 

A  model  family  he  raised, 
Of  noble  sons  and  daughters. 

Throughout  the  township,  they  were  famed 
For  goodness,  beauty,  quickness ; 

And  on  them  fate  shed  not  the  blight 
Of  poverty  and  sickness. 

They  loved  each  other,  and  they  loved 

Jehovah,  and  their  neighbour  j 
And  did  not  strive  to  shun  their  lot 

Of  never-ending  labor. 

They  paid  their  taxes  to  the  town, 

The  parish,  and  the  nation  ; 
Had  faith,  but  rested  not  alone 

On  that  for  their  salvation  ; 

But  rendered  unto  every  man 

The  debt  or  tribute  due  him, 
And,  if  another  failed  to  pay, 

Were  never  known  to  sue  him. 

They  went  to  meeting  twice  a  week, 

Each  one  was  a  professor, 
And,  though  it  seem  incredible, 

Each  one  was  a  possessor. 

11 0,  what  a  happy  family !  " 

I  hear  my  reader  saying  : 
"  May  I  as  good  and  happy  be  !  " 
I  hear  my  reader  praying. 


264  THE    WATER-CURE. 

And  yet  no  happiness  was  theirs  ; 

They  nursed  within  their  bosom 
A  canker-worm,  by  which  their  joys 

Were  blasted  in  the  blossom. 

An  antiquated  maiden  aunt 
(His  heart  with  pity  swelling) 

Tim  sheltered  ;  in  return,  she  proved 
The  demon  of  the  dwelling. 

She  said  that  he  was  needing  much 

A  steady,  prudent  person 
To  take  the  charge  of  his  affairs,  — 

And  he  might  get  a  worse  one  ; 

Hinted,  that,  for  his  sake  alone, 
From  cherished  plans  she  parted 

And  rendered,  upon  his  account, 
Three  suitors  broken-hearted. 

But  then  she  loved  her  nephew  dear, 

And  so  at  last  consented. 
Such  was  her  story :  but  too  late 

His  kindness  Tim  repented. 

Blow  high,  blow  low,  —  rain,  hail,  or  snow, 
Be  foul  or  fair  the  weather,  — 

Within  that  house  a  storm  raged  on, 
Weeks,  months,  and  years  together. 

They  were  an  amiable  set, 
Averse  to  strife  and  anger, 


THE    WATER-CURE.  265 

And  often  yielded  to  the  shrew, 
To  stop  her  dreadful  clangor. 

And  thus  it  was,  that,  step  by  step, 
She  grasped  all  household  power, 

And  made  the  farmer's  family 
Like  slaves  before  her  cower. 

And  he  himself  was  often  fain, 

When  raged  the  battle  sorest, 
To  seek  a  refuge  in  the  fields, 

The  orchard,  or  the  forest. 

But  even  there,  in  summer  time, 

When  doors  were  open  flying, 
While  birds  were  sending  up  their  hymns, 

And  zephyrs  gently  sighing,  — 

From  the  far  homestead  issuing, 

Discordant  notes  would  mingle 
With  Nature's  melodies,  that  rose 

From  meadow,  wood,  and  dingle. 

And  therefore  Tim,  when  winter  came, 

A  hearty  welcome  gave  him ; 
For  then  closed  doors  and  woodland  work 

Would  household  torment  save  him. 

But  when  the  farmer  and  his  sons, 
At  eve,  were  homeward  wending, 

A  furlong  off,  the  vixen's  voice 
The  frosty  air  was  rending. 
23 


266  THE    WATER-CURE. 

Desire  of  rest  and  dismal  dread 
Were  in  their  bosoms  blended,  — 

While,  through  the  spacious  chimney-throat, 
The  piercing  tones  ascended. 

To  wish  her  sick,  or  wish  her  dead, 
Poor  Tim  was  strongly  tempted : 

Alas !  from  all  the  ills  of  flesh, 
Aunt  Katy  was  exempted. 

If  strict  obedience  to  her  will 
They  ever  failed  to  grant  her, 

She  vowed  that  she  would  have  her  way, 
Or  hang  herself  instanter. 

One  summer  eve,  by  rage  and  spite 
For  the  fell  purpose  seasoned, 

She  ran  up  stairs  and  slipped  a  rope 
Around  her  scraggy  weasand. 

They  found  her ;  —  "  O  Aunt  Katy  dear  ! 

How  could  you  be  so  wicked  ? "  — 
They  did  not  notice,  in  the  dusk, 

She  stood  upon  a  cricket  ; 

But  lifted  her,  took  off  the  rope, 
And  ceased  not  their  complaining, 

Till  Katy  yielded  signs  of  life, 
When  wearied  out  with  feigning. 

From  that  time  forth,  as  might  be  guessed, 
She  reigned  with  tenfold  rigor ; 


THE    WATER-CURE.  267 

The  hanging  really  seemed  to  give 
Her  evil  passions  vigor. 


PART    SECOND. 

"  Accursed  family  is  this  ! 

I  '11  live  no  longer  in  it. 
The  blessed  river  runs  close  by ; 

I  '11  drown  myself  this  minute." 

They  noticed  not  her  thrilling  threat, 
As  through  the  door  she  darted ; 

But  pleased,  their  plan  had  worked  so  well, 
They  smiled  as  she  departed. 

Away  she  marched,  with  lengthy  stride, 
Head  up,  and  hair  wild-flying  ; 

Her  outward  semblance,  all  the  while, 
Her  inmost  heart  belying. 

She  climbed  the  fence  across  the  path  ; 

A  sudden  qualm  came  o'er  her  ; 
She  cast  a  furtive  glance  behind, 

An  anxious  look  before  her. 

Among  the  trees  the  autumn  wind 
A  mournful  moan  was  making  ; 

The  tiny  waves  along  the  beach 
In  puny  rage  were  breaking. 


268  THE     WATER-CURE. 

She  waded  in  the  chilly  tide,  — 

A  horrid  thrill  it  gave  her  ; 
She  cast  another  glance  behind ; 

Would  no  one  come  to  save  her  ? 

With  slower,  slower,  slower  step, 
She  moves  among  the  billows : 

She  does  not  see  the  laughing  eyes 
That  watch  behind  the  willows. 

She  pauses,  listens,  thinks  she  hears 

Behind  an  eager  bustling  ; 
Darts  on,  then  stops ;  —  't  is  but  the  wind 

Among  the  dry  leaves  rustling. 

Her  courage  sank,  —  the  waves  arose 
The  higher  and  the  colder, 

As  though  within  their  dark  embrace 
Preparing  to  enfold  her. 

Between  her  pride  and  love  of  life 
A  struggle  here  ensuing,  — 

The  latter  won,  —  her  stern  resolve 
To  die  at  once  undoing. 

"  I  see,"  cried  Kate,  "  to  drown  myself 
Would  only  be  to  please  you ; 

But,  cruel  monsters !  I  will  live 
A  long  while  yet,  to  tease  you." 

Then  back  toward  the  welcome  shore 
With  rapid  steps  she  hurried, 


THE    WATER-CURE.  269 

Soon  reached  the  house,  and  in  her  room 
For  two  long  weeks  lay  buried. 

From  that  time  forth  her  temper  cooled ; 

She  every  day  grew  meeker  ; 
Her  manners  softened,  and  her  voice 

With  every  day  grew  weaker. 

She  felt  ashamed ;  shame  led  to  thought. 
And  thought  to  late  repentance  ; 

She  felt  subdued,  and  seldom  smiled, 
Or  spoke  a  wordy  sentence. 

And  when  a  year  had  passed  away, 

And  by  its  trials  proved  her, 
Of  that  late  wretched  family 

Not  one  but  dearly  loved  her. 

Years  fled  in  tranquil  happiness ; 

Tim's  sons  and  daughters  married  ; 
And  when,  at  last,  Aunt  Katy  died, 

And  to  the  grave  was  carried,  — 

A  long  procession  followed  on, 

A  mournful  silence  keeping  ; 
And  every  heart  was  filled  with  grief, 

And  every  eye  was  weeping. 

23* 


EPIGRAM 


BY    A    TEXAN,    ON    THE    DEMISE    OF    HIS    COUNTRY    AS    A    NATION. 


DEFUNCT  is  my  nation  ;  with  rapture  I  sing  ; 

And  yet  a  most  thorough-paced  patriot  I : 
For  one's  country  to  live  is  a  glorious  thing, 

And,  O,  it  is  sweet  for  one's  country  to  die ! 


THE  LAY   OF    THE   JILTED. 


SHE  's  married,  — the  girl  that  I  loved  the  best,  — 

She  's  married  to  another ; 
And  what  I  shall  do  I  do  not  know. 

O,  what  a  plaguy  bother 
These  flirting  coquettes  are  !     I  think 

I  never  will  love  again. 
My  hopes  of  the  future  were  centred  in  her ; 

But,  alas  !  all  my  hopes  were  in  vain. 

Another  has  stolen  the  heart  away 

Which  I  fondly  hoped  was  mine,  lang  syne ; 
And  she  vowed  as  strongly  to  love  him  till  death 

As  she  vowed  to  love  me  till  mine. 
And  she  stood  at  the  altar  and  vowed  that  she  'd 
cherish, 

Obey  him,  and  love  him,  and  honor ! 
One  evening  she  thus  promised  me,  when  the  light 

Of  the  moon  and  the  stars  shone  upon  her. 

O,  well  I  remember  the  happy  night 

When  that  vow  of  my  Mary  was  given  ; 

She  gazed  at  the  sky,  and  she  lisped,  "  When  I  fail, 
Then  fails  the  north  star  of  the  heaven  !  " 


272  THE    LAY    OF    THE    JILTED. 

Then  fails  the  north  star  of  the  heaven  !  the  star 

Shines  as  brightly  as  ever  it  did  ; 
But  where  is  my  Mary,  sweet  creature !  O,  where  ? 

And  where  has  her  constancy  fled  ? 

O  the  wretch  !  how  I  'd  spurn  her  !  her  perfidy 

Has  turned  all  my  love  into  hate. 
But  hark  !  what  whispers  ?  't  is  Conscience,  I  think  ! 

"  Your  memory  is  treacherous  of  late. 
To  how  many  damsels  have  you,  in  your  day,  -- 

Promised  constancy,  love,  and  devotion  ? 
Say,  how  many  girls  have  you  thus  led  astray, 

And  then  cast  adrift  on  Life's  ocean  ? 

"  For  fear  that  you  don't  recollect,  even  now, 

I  '11  just  jog  your  memory  a  mite, 
About  one  Kate ah  !  now  I  see  that  you  take. 

But,  dear  me  !  don't  look  quite  so  white ! 
You  '11  faint,  I  'm  afraid  ;  take  some  water,  —  that 's 
well  ; 

You  've  recovered,  and  now  I  '11  proceed. 
If  I  err  in  my  story,  correct  me,  that 's  all ; 

Attention  !  good  sir  ;  pray  take  heed. 

"  Perhaps  you  remember  one  night  in  September, 

(I  think  it  was  on  the  eleventh), 
You  walked  with  <  sweet  Kate,'  and  you  called  her 
your  angel, 

And  c  first  love  '  (you  knew  't  was  the  seventh). 
You  gazed  at  the  stars,  and  you  talked  of  the  spirits 

Who  live  in  those  bright  worlds  afar  j 


THE    LAY  OF    THE    JILTED.  273 

And  you  said  that  you  hoped  you  should  one  day  be 

dwelling 
With  her  in  some  far-distant  star. 

"  And  the  c  angel,'  alas  !  she  believed  all  you  said, 

And  gave  you  her  heart,  the  poor  maid  ! 
And  you  —  left  her,  and  carried  your  vows  to  another ; 

And  Kate  —  poor  Kate  !  —  was  betrayed. 
Well,  how  fared  your  next  love  ?  —  you  don't  recol- 
lect! 

O,  then,  I  '11  just  ask,  did  you  banter " 

O  Conscience !  dear  Conscience  !  do  pray  hold  your 
tongue, 

And  I  vow  I  '11  get  married  instanter. 

Well,  now,  I  declare  it  is  quite  too  provoking 

To  have  such  a  conscience  as  this, 
That  recollects  all  my  old  sins,  and  keeps  poking 

Them  at  me,  to  mar  all  my  bliss. 
Confound  it !  I  meant  to  have  made  a  good  story 

Of  this  same  unfortunate  jilting, 
And  woven  a  coverlid,  thick,  for  my  sins  ; 

But  Conscience,  the  jade  !  spoilt  the  quilting. 


FOURTH     OF     JULY. 


A  THOUSAND  thrilling  recollections  flash 
From  memory's  field  in  vivid  colors  forth, 
As,  starting  from  my  sleep,  I  hear  the  crash 
Of  pealing  cannon,  and  the  noisy  mirth 
Of  joyous  multitudes.     The  dewy  earth 
Is  not  yet  lighted  by  the  rising  sun, 
Yet  doth  the  welkin  ring,  from  south  to  north, 
With  cracker,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  and  gun, 
Proclaiming  that  the  boys  have  just  commenced  their 
fun. 

Memory  is  busy,  and  I  feel  almost 
A  boy  again  ;  I  seem  to  be  once  more 
Just  springing  from  my  bed,  counting  as  lost 
The  time  there  spent  beyond  the  hour  of  four. 
Short  was  my  prayer  just  then,  my  toilet  o'er 
In  half  the  usual  time,  —  I  grappled  quick 
My  powder-flask  and  gun,  —  stole  to  the  door 
All  silently.     Ah !  then  my  heart  beat  thick, 
Lest  I  betrayed  myself  by  some  untimely  creak  ! 


FOURTH     OF    JULY.  275 

In  vain  may  parents  try  to  keep  their  children 
In  bed  till  sunrise  on  a  morn  like  this, — 
The  sounds  are  so  exciting  and  bewildering,  — 
It  is  a  pity  thus  to  mar  their  bliss ; 
What 's  more,  unless  they  tie  them,  they  will  miss 
The  little  urchins,  if  into  their  bed 
They  take  a  peep,  long  ere  the  sun  shall  kiss 
The  hill-tops  with  his  rays.  —  Oft  have  I  fled 
Thus,  through  the  old  back  window  which  hangs  o'er 
the  shed. 

And  when  my  mother  (bless  her !)  thought  me  close 
And  safe  in  bed,  well  out  of  danger's  way, 
Around  me  then  the  smoke  of  powder  rose, 
Pealed  from  my  gun  loud  welcomes  to  the  day, 
And  careless  I  pursued  my  dangerous  play ; 
For,  on  this  day  of  Liberty,  I  thought 
'T  was  quite  excusable  to  disobey 
My  parents,  (naughty  boy!)  —  and,  if  not  caught, 
My   conscience   scarcely   ever   spoilt  my  morning's 
sport. 

Boys  will  be  boys !  and  now,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  wish  myself  a  wild  young  boy  again. 
O,  in  the  thoughtless  joyousness  of  youth, 
How  little  is  there  known  of  care  and  pain  ! 
How  little  felt  the  storms  of  Fate  which  rain 
So  heavily  on  manhood's  hopes,  and  quench 
In  gloom  the  flame  which  strives,  but  strives  in  vain, 
To  gather  strength,  —  sinking  beneath  the  drench 
Of  ceaseless  sorrows,  which  oft  make  the  strongest 
blench. 


TO 


How  beautiful,  how  beautifulj 

Thy  clear  cerulean  eye ! 
I  gaze  upon  it  as  I  gaze 

Upon  the  azure  sky : 
And  as  unto  my  longing  look, 

At  some  rapt  hour,  is  given, 
Far  in  those  bright,  ethereal  depths, 

By  faith,  a  glimpse  of  heaven ; 
So,  as  into  those  orbs  of  blue 

My  ardent  glances  dart, 
Far  in  their  liquid  depths  I  read 

The  heaven  of  thy  heart. 

But  as  the  Peri  mourned  the  fate 
Which  closed  on  her  the  crystal  gate 

Of  Paradise  for  ever, 
Yet,  while  bewailing  her  sad  lot, 
Still  hovered  near  the  sacred  spot 

Which  she  might  enter  never  ; 
So,  while  I  look  upon  thy  face, 
And  in  its  every  feature  trace 
The  guilelessness  and  matchless  grace 


TO 


277 


Of  the  pure  heart  within, 
How  ardently  my  soul  aspires 

That  glorious  heart  to  win  ! 
But  soon  in  darkness  hope  expires. 

It  may  not  be  ;  it  may  not  be  ; 
And  yet  I  linger  near  to  thee, 
And  nourish  passion's  fires 
By  gazing  at  those  azure  eyes, 
Which,  like  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
Half-opened,  show  the  heaven  within, 
All-glorious  and  free  from  sin. 

0  lady !  is  there  not  for  me, 
As  for  the  Peri,  still  a  hope, 

As  she  won  heaven,  that  I  win  thee  ? 

O,  tell  me,  lady  !  what  can  ope 
The  portals  of  thy  heart  to  me  ? 

1  'd  roam  the  broad  earth  through  and  through, 

I  'd  sail  from  sea  to  sea, 
But  I  would  find  that  potent  charm, 

The  gift  most  worthy  thee, 
That  I  might  make  thee  all  mine  own, 
That  peerless  heart,  mine,  mine  alone  ! 


THE   LAKE   AT    SUNSET. 


How  stilly  sleeps  the  wood-girt  lake ! 

There  's  not  a  zephyr  to  awake 

A  ripple  on  the  mimic  sea  ;  — 

It  sleeps,  —  it  sleeps,  —  how  tranquilly ! 

'T  is  evening  :  'neath  the  glowing  west 

The  glorious  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest ; 

But  still  his  latest  beams  adorn 

The  misty  curtains  round  him  drawn,  — 

Those  gorgeous  clouds  which  hang  on  high 

Their  many-tinted  canopy  ! 

The  deep  blue  arch,  the  golden  west, 
Are  painted  in  the  lake  at  rest 
So  perfectly,  that,  while  I  stand 
Upon  this  jutting  point  of  land, 
Between  two  worlds  I  seem  to  move,  — 
A  heaven  below,  a  heaven  above  ! 

The  trees  that  o'er  the  lake  are  bending, 
The  smoke  from  cottage-hearth  ascending, 


THE    LAKE    AT    SUNSET.  279 

The  cliff  that  towers  in  majesty 
In  bold  relief  against  the  sky, 
The  goat,  so  statue-like,  so  still, 
That  crowns  its  loftiest  pinnacle, 
And  e'en  the  early  bird  of  even, 
That  flits  across  the  fading  heaven, 
Are  mirrored  back  without  a  break 
From  the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake. 

The  Christian,  thus,  with  placid  soul, 
Calmed  by  Religion's  mild  control, 
In  whom  the  Spirit  from  above 
Hath  writ  the  truths  of  heavenly  love, 
Reflects  them  clearly  in  his  life, 
Still  calm  amid  this  world  of  strife. 

But  hark  !  the  rustling  of  the  trees 
Tells  of  the  coming  evening  breeze. 
Lo  !  o'er  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  unchained  winds  their  courses  take  ; 
And,  as  in  rising  strength  they  sweep, 
The  waves  awaken  from  their  sleep.  — 
'T  is  gone  !  that  heaven  within  the  deep  ! 

Above,  the  stars  of  evening  glow, 
But  not  within  the  lake  below  ; 
Its  broken  surface,  rough  and  black, 
Gives  to  the  eye  no  image  back. 

'T  is  thus  that  wildly  o'er  the  heart 
At  times  the  storms  of  passion  start, 


280  THE    LAKE    AT    SUNSET. 

And,  while  they  last,  obliterate 
All  vestige  of  a  happier  state. 
No  longer  shows  the  spirit  forth 
Rich  tokens  of  its  heavenly  birth, 
But,  gloomy,  fierce,  and  tempest-driven, 
Refuses  to  look  up  to  heaven. 

Grant,  Heavenly  Father !  my  request : 
May  my  soul  be  the  lake  at  rest ! 
And,  if  upon  its  bosom  deep 
The  storms  of  passion  e'er  should  sweep, 
Then,  gracious  Father !  may  thy  will 
Say  to  the  tempest,  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 

As  home  I  wandered  on  that  even, 
A  truth  —  it  seemed  a  truth  from  heaven 
Breathed  on  my  spirit ;  thus  it  spake  :  — 
"  Learn  thou  a  lesson  from  the  lake  ! 
None  are  so  good,  but  o'er  the  soul 
At  times  the  earth-born  tempests  roll  ; 
None  so  depraved,  but,  if  we  look 
Into  the  heart's  most  sheltered  nook, 
We  there  may  some  faint  image  trace 
Of  heavenly  truth  and  heavenly  grace  : 
As  in  the  lake  you  still  may  find 
Some  spot  unruffled  by  the  wind,  — 
Some  far-retiring,  tree-girt  cove, 
Reflecting  still  the  heavens  above. " 


THE   EARTHQUAKE. 


ALL  day  the  clouds  had  hung 
Gloomy  and  threatening  in  the  far  southeast ; 
And  hollow  murmurs,  like  the  distant  crash 
Of  mountain  billows  on  the  rock-bound  shore, 
Came  through  the  stagnant  air,  and  waked  a  dread 
And  fearful  boding  in  each  listener. 

The  darkness  spread ;  the  blessed  sun  was  hid  ; 
Deep  gloom  pervaded  all  the  firmament, 
And  all  the  earth,  and  every  heart  therein. 
The  solid  globe  seemed  in  its  mortal  throes ; 
Deep,  hollow  rumblings  passed  beneath  our  feet ; 
Earth  shook  and  wavered  like  the  unstable  ocean. 
Houses  and  churches  toppled  down,  and  men 
Ran  shrieking  from  their  falling  tenements  ; 
And  the  dark  forest  waved  and  nodded,  like 
The  cornfield  'neath  the  wild  autumnal  blast  ; 
And  lightnings  flashed  from  the  black  mass  above, 
And  ever  and  anon  the  deep-voiced  thunder  spake. 
But  still  the  air  stirred  not ;  no  rain-drops  fell ; 
And  from  the  thirsty  ground,  when  shaken  by 
The  passing  earthquake,  rose  huge  clouds  of  dust. 
24* 


282  THE    EARTHQUAKE. 

But  still  the  air  moved  not ;  a  calmness  dread, 
Portentous,  did  pervade  the  atmosphere, 
Which,  though  itself  was  motionless,  was  filled 
With  screaming  fowls  of  heaven  on  restless  wings, 
Who,  as  if  conscious  that  some  dread  catastrophe 
Impended  o'er  creation,  swept  and  wheeled 
In  mazy  circles,  shrieking  warningly, 
But  resting  not  their  weary  wings.     Fear  looked 
From  every  countenance  ;  and  parents  then 
Gathered  their  trembling  offspring  round  and  fled, 
Seeking  protection  on  the  rock-based  hills ; 
While  closer  to  her  breast  the  mother  clasped 
Her  helpless  and  unconscious  babe,  as  if 
There  it  were  shielded  from  all  harm. 

But  some  fled  not.     Despair  had  struck 
Their  inmost  hearts,  and  numbed  all  faculties, 
All  feelings  except  fear,  which  reigned  triumphant. 
There  they  sat,  —  while  others,  in  whose  breasts 
Hope  still  burned  with  a  feeble  flame,  rushed  on, 
In  the  vain  thought  of  finding  safety  ;  where 
They  knew  not,  but  still  on  they  fled,  —  on,  on, 
'Mid  wail  and  shriek  ;  and  at  each  rending  crash 
Of  heaven's  artillery,  came  forth  a  louder  howl  ; 
And  every  quake,  which  shook  Earth  to  her  centre, 
Prostrated  thousands.     O  that  piercing  cry  ! 
"  O  God  !  great  God  !  art  thou  a  God  of  mercy  ?  " 

And  the  lightning's  flash,  and  the  thunder's  crash, 
And  the  earthquake's  rumbling  roar, 

And,  in  the  lull,  the  warning  sound 
From  the  distant  ocean's  shore, 


THE    EARTHQUAKE.  283 

Were  the  stern  answers  to  their  wild  demand. 

On,  on,  they  rushed.  —  But,  as  I  said,  some  fled  not. 

And  now  a  dark  thought  seized  them  ;  desperate, 

They  burst  into  the  cellars,  reckless  all 

Of  rending  earth  and  houses  falling  fast, 

And  rolled  into  the  city's  square  huge  casks, 

And,  gathering  round,  commenced  their  fearful  revels, 

And  strove  in  the  intoxicating  bowl 

To  lose  all  sense  of  danger,  while  around 

A  vast  bonfire  they  danced,  and  yelled,  and  howled 

Like    hell-born  demons.      And   the  deep    draughts 

worked 

Within,  until  each  mad,  infuriate  wretch, 
Seizing  his  blazing  brand,  spread  hell  around, 
Till  the  whole  city  roared  and  crackled  fierce, 
In  fearful  conflagration. 

From  afar, 

The  frightened  denizens  who  fled  looked  back, 
And  deemed  the  last  great  day  had  come,  when  earth 
Should  melt  with  fervent  heat,  and  heaven  shrink  up 
And  vanish  like  a  scroll. 

Amid  these  horrors,  one  calm  scene  there  was. 
A  glorious  company  had  gathered  there, 
In  the  broad  field :  none  shrieked,  none  fled  ; 
But  faith  and  hope  beamed  from  each  countenance  : 
Not  earthly  faith,  not  earthly  hope  ;  for  well 
Knew  they  that  death  was  nigh ; 
But  faith  in  God,  hope  in  redeeming  grace. 
And  if,  when  fiercer  flashed  the  lightning  forth, 


284  THE    EARTHQUAKE. 

When  deeper  rolled  the  thunder,  or  when  shook 
The  quaking  earth,  as  in  its  last  death-throes, 
Their  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  fear  seized  on  their 

hearts, 

It  was  but  for  an  instant ;  gathering  strength 
In  prayer,  they  cast  it  off,  and  still  awaited, 
With  new  serenity,  God's  hour. 

'T  was  near  the  close  of  day,  when  from  the  west 
The  brazen  clouds  rolled  up  ;  and,  dim  and  faint, 
The  dying  sun  looked  forth,  as  if  to  take 
His  last  farewell  of  earth.     All  nature  then, 
As  for  this  solemn  interview,  was  hushed. 
The  earth  quaked  not,  the  lightning  flashed  no  more. 
And  the  last  echoes  of  the  thunder  died. 
The  beasts,  which  all  day  long  had  run,  and  howled, 
And  rent  the  air  with  cries  of  terror,  ceased. 
The  screaming  birds  quelled  their  discordant  shrieks, 
And  settled  down  again  on  tree  and  bush, 
To  rest  their  wearied  pinions.     And  again 
The  hearts  of  men  beat  free  ;  they  hoped  once  more  ! 
Yet,  hardly  daring  to  indulge  their  hopes, 
They  gazed  in  mute  inquiry  on  each  other. 
Low  bowed  the  Christian  band,  and,  with  bent  knees, 
Clasped  hands,  raised  eyes,  thanked  God  inaudibly. 
E'en  the  inebriate  crew  stood  still,  in  awe 
At  the  impressive  silence.     Not  a  sound 
Was  heard,  save  the  far  voice  of  Ocean. 

O  God !  that  shock  !  —  The  solid  earth  had  sunk 
A  hundred  fathom  'neath  the  ocean's  level ! 


THE    EARTHQUAKE.  285 

• 

Louder  and  louder  came  that  distant  roar. 

The  sea  had  burst  its  bounds !  and  inland  rolled 

On  the  devoted  earth,  devouringly, 

Foaming  and  thundering  on  its  rapid  way. 

Houses,  and  ships,  and  churches  were  submerged, 

Or  borne  resistlessly  upon  the  crest 

Of  the  huge  mountain  billow  that  advanced, 

With  a  deep  front,  a  hundred  fathom  high, 

In  foam  and  mist,  on  its  o'erwhelming  course.  — 

Now  recommenced  the  flight ;  and  howl  and  shriek 

Joined  the  deep  bass  of  the  advancing  ocean 

In  horrid  harmony !    On,  on  it  came  ! 

High  up  in  air  its  white  and  foamy  crest 

Gleamed  fearfully  distinct  against  the  dark 

Background  of  heaven. 


LINES 


SUGGESTED     BY    THE    RINGING    OF    BELLS    AND    THE    FIRING     OF     CAN- 
NON   IN    CELEBRATION    OF    THE    CAPTURE    OF    VERA    CRUZ. 


Ho !  Christians,  rejoice,  there  is  news  of  a  fight,  — 
Rejoice  for  the  victory  of  wrong  over  right. 
Vera  Cruz  is  in  ruins,  the  battle  is  o'er,  — 
Babes,  matrons,  and  maidens  lie  stiff  in  their  gore. 
'Mid  the  crashing  of  shot,  and  the  bursting  of  bombs, 
Dark  Slavery  triumphs,  pale  Freedom  succumbs. 
Ho  !  Christians,  rejoice,  this  is  Christian-like  work  ! 
Not  the  deed  of  the  barbarous  heathen  or  Turk. 
Bid  the  merry  bells  ring  and  the  loud  cannon  speak, 
For  the  battle  is  won  by  the  strong  o'er  the  weak. 
Ho  !  brothers,  rejoice  at  the  glorious  news, 
We  are  Christians,  no  doubt !  battering  down   Vera 

Cruz  ! 

Rejoice,  for  in  this  worthy  compeers  have  we,  — 
Pandemonium  rings  with  demoniac  glee ; 
The  boom  of  the  cannon,  the  clang  of  the  bell, 
Find  a  ready  response  in  the  echoes  of  hell ! 

But,  hark  !  from  the  city  a  cry  of  despair  ; 

The  mangled,  the  murdered,  the  widowed,  are  there. 


LINES.  287 

Heaven  looks  on  the  vanquished  with  pitying  eyes, 
The  bosoms  of  angels  respond  to  their  sighs, 
And  their  tears  draw  down  answering  tears  from  the 
skies. 


LIBERTY. 


SCENE.  —  A  town  in  South  Carolina;  drums  beating,  guns  firing, 
colors  flying.  Time,  —  4th  of  July.  A  coffle  of  slaves  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  four  sons  of  liberty  on  horseback,  with  long  whips,  acting  as 
drivers. 

TUNE.  —  "  /  see  them  on  their  winding  way" 

I  SEE  them  on  their  toilsome  way. 
Their  faces  wear  no  smiles  to-day  ; 
The  white  man's  note  of  revelry 
Blends  with  the  captive's  wailing  cry, 
And  waving  arms,  and  banners  bright, 
Are  glancing  in  the  noonday  light ;  — 
But  not  for  them  this  jubilee  ; 
Waves  not  for  them  the  banner  free  ; 
And  at  the  contrast,  fainter  still, 
The  sinking  captives  mount  the  hill. 

Crack,  crack  the  whip  !  —  the  cruel  lash 
Leaves  on  their  shoulders  many  a  gash ; 
Weeping  and  chained,  along  they  drag, 
Above  them  waves  fair  Freedom's  flag, 
And,  from  the  crowded  court-house  near, 
The  white  man's  hymn  of  joy  they  hear. 


LIBERTY.  289 

Forth,  forth,  and  meet  them  on  their  way, 
Their  bleeding  feet  brook  no  delay  ; 
Strike  off  their  fetters,  make  them  free, 
Then  raise  your  songs  of  liberty. 


25 


DEATH    ON   THE   PALE   HORSE. 

(A    PAINTING    BY    DUNLAP.) 


NOT  thus,  not  thus,  should  Death  be  shown, 

With  fearful  form  and  countenance, 
With  writhing  serpent  following  on, 

With  hope-annihilating  glance, 
With  all  that 's  withering  to  the  heart, 

And  all  that 's  hideous  to  the  eye, 
With  hands  from  which  pale  lightnings  dart, 

With  all  that  tends  to  terrify ; 

Not  thus  should  Death,  our  kindest  friend, 

To  mortal  view  be  bodied  forth,  — 
Death,  in  whose  bosom  is  an  end 

For  all  the  sin  and  woe  of  earth : 
O,  't  is  a  heathen  custom,  this, 

From  which  all  Christians  should  be  weaned  ; 
The  friend  who  ushers  us  to  bliss 

Should  not  be  painted  as  a  fiend. 

Around  God's  throne  in  heaven  above, 
Death  was  the  mildest  of  the  throng, 

His  heart  most  filled  with  holy  love, 
In  warmth  and  charity  most  strong  ; 


DEATH  ON  THE  PALE  HORSE.         291 

For  angels  differ  in  their  frame 
Like  men,  and  not  to  all  are  given 

A  mind  and  heart  in  each  the  same  ; 
Thus  all  are  not  alike  in  heaven. 

When  God  ordained  man's  destiny, 

To  Death  the  blessed  task  was  given 
Of  setting  careworn  spirits  free,,  — 

Of  ushering  souls  from  earth  to  heaven  : 
As  downward  on  this  blest  employ 

He  darted  on  his  pinions  bright, 
How  thrilled  his  heart  with  holy  joy  ! 

How  beamed  his  countenance  with  light ! 

And  ever  since  that  blessed  hour 

Has  Death  watched  o'er  each  child  of  clay, 
As  bends  above  her  darling  flower 

A  tender  girl,  from  day  to  day  ; 
Till,  when  the  long-sought  bud  appears, 

Expanding  to  a  lovely  blossom, 
She  plucks  it  from  its  stem,  and  wears 

The  cherished  flower  upon  her  bosom. 

Thus  tenderly  Death  watches  over 

Each  struggling  spirit  shrined  in  clay, 
Till,  at  the  mandate  of  Jehovah, 

He  bears  the  ripened  soul  away. 
The  bond,  the  free,  the  high,  the  low, 

Alike  are  objects  of  his  love  ; 
And  though  he  severs  hearts  below, 

He  joins  them  evermore  above. 


292         DEATH  ON  THE  PALE  HORSE. 

I  have  a  picture  in  my  eye  :  — 

A  bowed-down  captive  drags  his  chain 
Along  his  dungeon  mournfully, 

And  writhes  and  groans  in  bitter  pain  ; 
But  suddenly  the  walls  are  burst, 

There  rushes  in  unwonted  light  ; 
Dazzled  and  blind,  he  shrinks,  at  first, 

From  his  deliverer,  with  affright. 

And  not  until  his  prison-wall 

Is  left,  although  unwillingly,  — 
Not  till  his  galling  fetters  fall, 

And  leave  the  long-bound  prisoner  free,  — 
And  not  until  his  quailing  eye 

Is  strengthened,  —  can  his  gaze  embrace 
The  look  of  calm  benignity 

That  beams  from  his  deliverer's  face. 

And  this  is  Death !      O,  paint  him  not 

As  yonder  canvas  shows  him  forth,  — 
Death,  who  removes  us  from  a  spot 

So  full  of  sin  and  woe  as  earth ! 
O,  Jt  is  a  heathen  custom,  this, 

From  which  all  Christians  should  be  weaned  ; 
The  friend  who  ushers  us  to  bliss 

Should  not  be  painted  as  a  fiend. 


SAD   HOURS. 


THE  cold  winds  of  autumn  are  sighing  around, 

And  the  leaves  sere  and  yellow  lie  strown  o'er  the 
ground ; 

By  the  eddying  blasts  they  are  whirled  through  the 
air, 

And  the  tall  trees  that  bore  them  are  naked  and  bare. 

Ah  !  thus  has  a  frost  nipped  the  plans  which  I  cher- 
ished, 

And  desolate  left  me :  my  hopes  have  all  perished ! 

Disappointment  has  tracked  me,  misfortune  assailed  ; 

In  vain  I  resisted,  the  storm  has  prevailed  : 

The  present  is  misery,  the  future  a  void  j 

O,  the  foliage  of  hope  is  for  ever  destroyed ! 

For  ever  ?     0,  no !  to  the  heart,  tree,  and  plain 

A  spring  is  approaching  ;  in  verdure  again 

The  tall  oak  shall  be  clad,  and  where  chill  winter 

hovered, 
With  a  carpet  of  green  the  brown  heath  shall  be 

covered. 

25* 


294  SAD    HOURS. 

Bethink   thee,   sad  youth  !  were  thy  hopes   placed 

aright  ? 
Didst  thou  rest  on  thy  God  ?    Didst  thou  pray,  day 

and  night, 
For  the  strength  which  should  bear  thee  in  victory 

through  ? 

In  sickness  and  sorrow  he  still  will  be  true. 
Though  friends  should  forsake,  though  misfortune 

assail  thee, 

Trust  humbly  in  God,  —  he  never  will  fail  thee  : 
In  the  hour  of  thy  trial  look  upward  to  heaven, 
Ask  strength  of  thy  Father,  and  strength  shall  be 

given. 


THE    GRAVE. 

[FROM  THE  ANGLO-SAXON.*] 


ERE  thoti  from  mother  earnest  forth, 

Into  the  broad  world  sent, 
For  thee  was  built  a  house  of  earth, 

For  thee  a  mould  was  meant. 
But  't  is  not  ready-made  for  thee, 

Nor  its  depth  measured, 
Nor  hath  been  seen  by  mortal  een 

The  length  of  that  chill  bed. 
Thy  future  house  I  show  to  thee, 

Thy  mansion  dark  and  cold  : 
Thy  measure  first  must  taken  be, 

And  afterward  the  mould. 

Not  loftily  thy  house  is  built, 

With  wall  and  ceiling  high, 
But  when  thou  art  therein,  thou  wilt 

Find  but  just  room  to  lie. 

*  Versified  from  the  literal  translation  of  Longfellow,  —  Voices  of 
the  Mght,  p.  114. 


296  THE     GRAVE. 

The  roof  is  low  upon  thy  breast 
Now  freed  from  worldly  care  ; 

So  thou  in  mould  shalt  dwell  full  cold, 
Dimly  and  darkly  there. 

That  house  is  doorless,  black  within, 

And  Death  doth  thee  detain, 
For  he  the  key  hath  turned  on  thee, 

And  there  must  thou  remain  : 
Yes,  though  within  that  earth-house  damp 

'T  is  loathsome  to  reside, 
Still  must  thou  dwell  in  that  chill  cell, 

And  worms  shall  thee  divide. 

Thus  in  the  dark  grave  laid  away, 

From  loved  ones  separate, 
Thou  hast  no  friend  to  come  or  send, 

In  pity  of  thy  fate, 
And  ope  thy  prison-door,  and  ask, 

With  look  and  accent  kind, 
If  in  thy  cold,  dark  house  of  mould 

Thou  'rt  suited  to  thy  mind  : 
No  friend  shall  come  to  share  thy  home, 

Or  gaze  once  more  on  thee, 
For  in  the  tomb  thou  'It  soon  become 

A  loathsome  sight  to  see. 


AFFLICTION.  —  A    FRAGMENT. 


,      .      .      How  prone  are  all  to  think 
Their  individual  troubles  greater  far      ^ 

Than  those  of  others !  and  thus,  link  by  link, 

They  forge  the  chains  which  bind  them  to  the  car 
Of  fell  Despair ;  thus  cloud  the  kindly  star 

Of  Hope  in  darkness  !  —  Is  it  well  to  bend 
Beneath  our  sorrows  thus  ?     No  !  burst  the  bar, 

And  up  to  heaven  our  thoughts  and  wishes  send  ; 

Though  ever  with  the  strain  some  earthly  note  will 
blend. 

Who  ever  had  his  wish  fulfilled  on  earth, 
Who  ever  deeply  drained  the  cup  of  joy, 

And  did  not  find  some  drawback  to  his  mirth, 
Some  dregs  at  last,  some  balancing  alloy, 
To  mingle  with  his  gladness,  and  annoy 

E'en  while  he  would  be  happiest  ?  —  Is  it  wise 
To  be  seduced  thus,  by  such  earthly  toy, 

From  the  strait  path  ?     No  !  let  us  upward  rise 

Above  the  earth,  and  place  our  hopes  in  Paradise. 


298  AFFLICTION. 

There,  and  there  only,  can  we  hope  to  reap 

In  joy  the  fruit  whose  seed  was  sown  in  sadness ; 
O,  when  misfortune  causes  us  to  weep, 

Let  not  our  sorrows  goad  us  on  to  madness ; 

But  tune  we  then  our  harps  to  holy  gladness ; 
For  by  these  fiery  trials  we  are  made 

Fit  candidates  for  heaven 


WEARY    NOT. 


As  vapor,  ever  to  the  sky  ascending. 

Becomes  condensed  in  rain,  and,  downward  tending, 

Rushes  all  madly  to  the  earth  again, 

So  strives  the  spirit,  ever,  to  attain 

The  heaven  of  purity,  —  but  strives  in  vain  ; 

For,  vapor-like,  when  highest  it  is  floating, 

Some  low-born  passion,  some  weak  earthly  doating, 

Checks  its  career,  unnerves  the  spirit's  pinion, 

And  re-subjects  the  soul  to  sin's  dominion  : 

Failing,  and  fluttering,  from  its  lofty  height, 

Down,  down  the  spirit  rushes  into  night ! 

Weak  spirit !  —  weary  not ;  again  resume  thy  flight. 

Who,  that  can  soar,  would  dwell  on  earth  for  ever  ? 

Each  trial  strengthens  ;  and  when  death  shall  sever 

Thy  bonds,  then  shalt  thou  take  a  loftier  flight, 

Emerge  from  darkness  into  endless  light, 

Stretch  thy  freed  pinions,  soar  from  sun  to  sun, 

And  fold  them  not  till  heaven  itself  be  won  ! 


NIGHT. 


A    HYMN    FOR   THE    AFFLICTED. 


HATH  thy  spirit,  sinking,  pining, 
Seen  earth's  sun  of  hope  depart  ?  — 

Stars  of  heavenly  hope  are  shining 
On  the  midnight  of  thy  heart ! 

Though  diminutive,  in  seeming, 
When  compared  with  thy  lost  one, 

Every  star  in  heaven  gleaming 
Is  as  mighty  as  thy  sun. 

Erring  one  !  short-sighted  spirit ! 

Canst  thou  not  this  great  truth  see,  - 
All  thy  sun's  transcendent  merit 

Was,  that  it  was  near  to  thee  ? 

Ever  thus  the  nearest  pleasure 
Veils  the  distant  from  the  view  : 

See  thou  more  correctly  measure, 
To  eternal  interests  true. 


NIGHT.  301 

What  is  space  unto  the  spirit  ? 

Let  not  the  material  eye 
Blind  the  soul's  !     Strive  to  inherit 

Hopes,  though  distant,  that  ne'er  die. 

Thank  thy  God,  who  doth  the  glowing 

Sun  of  earthly  hope  withhold  ; 
Thereby  to  thy  spirit  showing 

Heavenly  hope  a  thousand-fold ! 


26 


SORROW. 


DOTH  the  sullen  surge  of  sorrow 
O'er  thy  troubled  spirit  roll  ? 

Is  the  prospect  for  to-morrow 
Darker,  stormier,  for  thy  soul  ? 

Whiter  are  the  sands  of  ocean, 
Beaten  by  the  raging  tide  : 

So  by  sorrow's  sad  emotion 
Is  the  spirit  purified. 


THE    SOUL'S    DESTINY. 


BEHOLD  yon  moon,  slow  lifting  up  her  head 
From  out  that  smoky  cloud  !     How  deeply  red 
Is  her  broad  disk,  as  through  the  evening  fog 
She  wends  her  way !     Those  vapors  seem  to  clog 
Her  footsteps,  pointing  to  the  upper  heaven.  — 
But  look !  that  murky  veil  night's  queen  hath  riven  ; 
The  shadows  from  her  face  fast  disappear ; 
Paler,  yet  brighter,  grows  that  lovely  sphere, 
Till  in  mid-heaven,  unveiled,  undimmed,  she  rides, 
Transparent  ether  laving  her  bright  sides. 

Thus  shall  the  soul  of  man,  which  on  this  earth 
Is  fettered  to  the  soil  and  chained  from  birth, 
Released  from  Death's  kind  hand,  to  heaven  rise, 
And,  purged  from  sin,  gleam  bright  above  the  skies. 


WHAT    SHALL   I   ASK   IN  PRAYER? 


WHAT  shall  I  ask  in  prayer  ?     Have  I  not  all 
That  fortune  can  bestow  of  earthly  gifts,  — 
Health,  riches,  friends? 

What  shall  I  ask  in  prayer? 
That  God  continue  to  pour  out  on  me 
Thus  bountifully  all  earth's  choicest  blessings  ? 
Shall  I  kneel  down  and  pray  that  he  will  still 
Preserve  my  health  inviolate,  sustain 
In  all  its  robust  strength  this  wondrous  frame  ? 
That  he  will  still  pour  wealth  into  my  coffers, 
Nor  leave  a  single  wish  ungratified 
Which  luxury  can  prompt  ?     Or  shall  I  ask 
That  friends  may  yet  be  true,  —  that  time  may  not 
Estrange  their  hearts  from  me,  nor  death  destroy  ? 
Shall  I  pray  thus  ?  —  No  !  —  let  me  rather  bend 
In  fearful,  trembling  meekness  at  the  shrine  :  — 
Father  in  heaven !  O,  give  me  strength  to  use 
Aright  those  talents  which  in  wisdom  thou 
Committedst  to  my  care  !     I  am  thy  steward  ; 
And  when  the  final  day  of  reckoning  comes. 
May  I  then  render  in  a  good  account ! 
I  pray  not  that  thou  wouldst  continue  all 


WHAT    SHALL    I    ASK    IN     PRAYER  ?  305 

These  earthly  blessings ;  for  thou  knowest  what 
Is  best  for  me.  —  Should  sickness,  sorrow,  want, 
E'er  come  upon  me,  all  I  ask,  O  God ! 
Is  resignation  to  thy  holy  will. 

What  shall  I  ask  in  prayer  ?  —  Misfortune  sweeps 
Resistless  over  all  my  earthly  hopes. 
Storm  after  storm  has  beat  upon  my  head  ; 
Broken  and  scattered  to  the  winds  the  fabric 
Of  all  my  worldly  greatness.     One  by  one 
My  plans  have  failed ;  and,  striving  to  regain 
The  ground  which  I  had  lost,  and  seat  myself 
Again  on  Fortune's  highest  pinnacle, 
I  have  but  overwhelmed  myself  the  more, 
And  made  my  fall  the  greater.  —  All  is  gone  ! 
Riches  have  fled,  and  deep,  corroding  care 
Has  preyed  upon  my  very  life  ;  this  frame, 
Erect  in  health  and  manly  vigor  once,  — 
Which  scarcely  knew  what  illness  was,  —  is  bowed 
By  sickness :  tottering  and  feeble  now 
The  once  elastic  step.     Pale  is  the  cheek 
Which  once  did  wear  the  ruddy  glow  of  health  ; 
And  dim  the  eye  which  shone  with  joy  and  hope. 
One  comfort  only  yet  remains  to  me :  — 
A  gentle  friend  ;  —  true  as  in  former  days  ; 
More  kind  and  more  affectionate  than  ever. 
She  watches  by  my  bed,  and  soothes  my  pain, 
And  droops  not,  though  my  spirit  sinks  within  me. 
Adversity  's  thine  element,  O  woman  !  — 
What  shall  I  ask  in  prayer  ?     Shall  I  send  up 
27 


306  WHAT    SHALL    I    ASK    IN    PRAYER? 

To  heaven's  gate  complaining  notes  of  woe, 
And  supplicate  Jehovah  to  give  back 
The  riches  and  the  health  of  former  days  ? 
Doth  not  the  Lord  know  what  is  best  for  me  ? 
Father,  above  !  I  bow  beneath  the  rod : 
Amid  the  desolation  of  my  hopes, 
I  ask  but  resignation  to  thy  will. 

What  shall  I  ask  in  prayer  ?     I  have  no  friend  ! 

Misfortune  robbed  me  of  my  wealth,  and  then 

I  saw,  alas  !  the  ties  which  bound  my  friends 

To  me  were  golden  strings  ;  they  snapped  in  twain  ; 

My  riches  fled;  and  friendship  was  no  more  ! 

Death  snatched  away  my  last,  true,  only  friend. 

She  died  !  and  I  am  left  alone  to  drag 

In  misery  the  burden  of  my  life  along. 

Grim  famine  stares ;  and  sickness  eats  into 

My  very  vitals,  nor  permits  repose. 

Poor,  friendless,  sick,— I  raise  my  thoughts  to  heaven. 

What  shall  I  ask  in  prayer  ?  —  Shall  I  besiege 
God's  throne  with  lamentations  ?     Shall  I  pray 
That  he  restore  to  me  health,  riches,  friends  ? 
Then  would  my  sorrows  have  been  all  in  vain. 
Health  makes  us  thoughtless  that  a  time  will  come 
When  "  dust  returns  to  dust  "  ;  and  riches  are 
Too  prone  to  keep  our  thoughts  from  higher  things  ; 
And  friends  do  often  fill  the  heart  so  wholly, 
That  not  one  thought  of  God  can  gain  admittance. 
"  'T  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted." 


WHAT    SHALL    I    ASK    IN    PRAYER?  307 

I  thank  thee,  God !  and  should  there  be  in  store 
Yet  further  trials,  strengthen  me,  I  pray. 
And  give  me  spiritual  health,  and  let 
My  riches  be  laid  up  in  heaven  above  ! 
My  everlasting  Friend,  thou  God  of  mercy ! 
In  earthly  troubles,  Lord !   I  only  ask 
For  resignation  to  thy  holy  will. 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  die  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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